The Lokistone
by Alydia Rackham
Summary: Jane Foster suspects why she has been relocated. But then another version of herself appears, warning her that the seams of space-time will rip apart if she does not complete this task: save Loki from the Avengers, with only a violet stone to guide her.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is dedicated to Tom Hiddleston._

_You started it._

_VVV_

"_Jane Foster knows SHIELD is behind her sudden relocation. But she has no idea why until another version of herself appears-one who warns her that the seams of space-time are ripping, and will destroy the universe if Jane does not complete this task: rescue Loki from the Avengers, with only a mysterious violet stone to guide her. Fallen Star Series."_

THE LOKISTONE

_"Out of the nothingness of sleep,  
The slow dreams of Eternity,  
There was a thunder on the deep:  
I came, because you called to me._

_I broke the Night's primeval bars,_  
_I dared the old abysmal curse,_  
_And flashed through ranks of frightened stars_  
_Suddenly on the universe!_

_The eternal silences were broken;_  
_Hell became Heaven as I passed. -_

_**What shall I give you as a token,  
A sign that we have met, at last?**_

_I'll break and forge the stars anew,_  
_Shatter the heavens with a song;_  
_Immortal in my love for you,_  
_Because I love you, very strong."_

_-"The Call," Rupert Brooke_

CHAPTER ONE

Wind rushed through his cape, cutting between the chinks in his armor as he leaned forward, slapped his hands down and took control of the Chitauri flier. He dove straight down, the engine screaming, then leveled out into a stomach-plunging swoop. An escort instantly flanked him, turning their nightmarish helmeted faces toward him for a moment before following him in a breathtaking swing around a narrow stone building.

Loki glanced at the burning chaos of the city far beneath him, his jaw tightening. Rolling black smoke billowed from lower windows and the lines of vehicles upon the cracked streets. Sirens howled, bricks groaned as they crumbled from weakened walls and crashed to the ground. Chitauri engines hummed and whined as they swept between the skyscrapers like reapers through rows of tall grain. The air reeked of ozone and chemicals, and blasts of intense heat peppered the tangled sea breeze.

Something clouded Loki's right eye. He frowned, and reached up with his right hand to swipe it clear. His knuckles bumped his helmet. He took a sharp, bracing breath and glanced down at his hand…

Cold water marked the white skin of the back of it.

His engine slowed.

He stared at that droplet of water, the cacophony of the battle fading.

He closed his hand—felt something sticky.

His breathing became unsteady as his eyes focused.

The bright scarlet of fresh blood stained his fingertips.

His lip twitched.

It wasn't _his_ blood.

He gritted his teeth, and wiped his suddenly-shaking hand off on his trouser leg with more force than he needed.

Now the blood smeared his clothes.

Loki bit out a snarl and grabbed hold of the steering with both hands again, blinking rapidly and gunning the engine.

He strafed the streets, firing down upon those noisy, dirty lines of vehicles, biting the inside of his cheek as clouds of flame blistered in droves.

Then, he pulled up and simply raced through the wreckage of the city, watching the Chitauri do their good work, listening as the noise built and battered in the canyons between the structures. Explosions shook the foundations. Whole buildings cracked in half and collapsed in slow, titanic measures that obliterated several blocks at a time, giving rise to vast clouds of poisonous gray dust—dust that plumed like a shroud sweeping over a corpse.

He reached the edge of the city and cast out over the bridges, then turned with his escort back into the mess of things, back toward Stark tower, his cape flapping. He pulled up, observing from a distance as the little group of multi-colored defenders took down the lead Chitauri carrier beast, sending its carcass splaying across two blocks. Loki drew in a breath, and spoke quietly.

"Send in the rest."

He lifted his chin and fixed his eyes on the distant beam of sapphire light shooting straight up into the sky, penetrating it like a knife into skin, opening the clouds to the wound of space. He took another deep breath, chills rushing through him as he watched a dozen more Chitauri beasts spill onto Midgard, sending their cargo down to flood the streets.

Loki kicked forward again, bearing down, eyes roving as the little multi-colored band split up, all heading different directions. Loki wove back and forth, easily avoiding the explosions and falling debris…

A flash.

He saw her.

Romanov. Natasha.

She had hijacked a Chitauri flier—she skidded recklessly ahead of him, toward Stark tower.

Loki's stomach turned. He aimed and fired at her.

Blue bolts shot past her head, her flanks. He pushed his engine speed, narrowing his focus, swooping round to catch her…

He felt it before he saw it—a whisper of air.

He didn't even have to look. His left hand moved—

And caught the metal arrow by the shaft. He tilted his head and looked at the tip of it—the razor tip that was only three inches from his face.

Barton.

Loki smirked, going cold down to his gut. His hand tightened, his thumb pressing on the front of the shaft to snap it in half—

He never heard it.

He just went blind and deaf.

In the split seconds that followed, a white light dominated his vision, flashing through his whole head.

Then, his body slammed into, and through, sharp steel, stone, glass…

His hearing came back like a clap of thunder.

Ringing shattered his senses. He forced his eyes open. Dazzling lights danced across his vision. He staggered to his feet, his shuddering breathing echoing through his skull. His brow furrowed.

His helmet had come off…

He stood at an immense height on a sunlit balcony…

That arrow had exploded in his face.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting to clear it.

A violent, visceral roar tore the air _right _in front of him.

He opened his eyes.

A huge emerald blur—

And a fist clubbed him.

Loki flew backward and crashed through a tall pane. He tumbled haphazardly across the smooth floor. Shards of glass rained down around him, jingling as they struck the stone.

Loki's blood turned molten.

He lifted his head, his vision clearing. He clawed at the tiles, at the glass beneath his fingers.

Bruce Banner, in his massive, brutal, mindless green form, towered at the other side of the destroyed room. The beast opened his wide mouth and roared again, shivering the air. His giant shoulders rippled—he slammed his mighty fists against the floor and bellowed once more, vibrating Loki's bones.

Loki's vision turned red.

He leaped to his feet, spreading his hands and lowering his shoulders, his eyes flashing.

"Enough!" he snapped. "You are all of you beneath me! I am a _god, _you dull creature! And I will not be bullied by—"

The next instant, Loki's back met the stone with more force than he had ever felt in the length of his life. His thoughts decimated, his will shattered—and blinding agony split his frame. His muscles liquefied—he was yanked back up, and slammed violently down.

Again—

Again—

Again—

His mind whirled and spun and reeled—went blank.

Then, all of a sudden, he lay still, half buried in stone, facing the ceiling—seeing nothing.

He couldn't feel the leg that Banner had just released.

He couldn't feel any of his body.

His throat spasmed.

His chest wouldn't rise—his ribs locked in place.

His heart had suspended in his chest, unmoving.

And as nothing but wild, reasonless panic overwhelmed his entire being, he waited for it to beat again.

LLLLL

"Miss Foster, how did you get this number?"

"From the agent walking right next to me," Jane answered, the sounds of her footsteps and the footsteps of the three black-clad agents echoing as they strode down the narrow, bright-white corridor.

"Only select personnel are authorized to call me using this—"

"I know, Director Fury, and I won't keep you on the line very long," Jane interrupted. "I just think I'm entitled to some answers."

"What kind of answers?" Nick Fury's gruff voice crackled. Jane pressed her cell phone closer to her ear.

"Well, for one thing, why was I picked up from my hotel and driven in a black sedan to an underground _compound?" _she demanded, pulling her jacket closer around herself. "I was in the middle of nowhere, and it's not like I'm the president or something. The stuff going on in New York shouldn't—"

"What stuff going on in New York?"

Jane rolled her eyes.

"Okay, I'm in the middle of nowhere but we still have _televisions_."

Fury was silent.

"Come on, Director—I knew SHIELD had something to do with this as soon as I got called the other day to consult," Jane pressed. "Tell me what is going on."

Fury sighed—a hiss of static in her ear.

"Okay, I don't have time for the long version, so I'll summarize," Fury said. "Thor's brother Loki showed up just a couple days ago and stole the tesseract—"

Jane jolted to a stop. Her eyes went wide.

"He _what?"_

"—and now he's opened up a portal over Stark Tower in New York and is letting an alien force called the Chitauri through. They're pretty much blowing the city to pieces."

Jane's head swam—her vision flickered and her heart raced. Something pressed against her lower back—an agent's steadying hand.

"We've got a force on the ground," Nick went on. "Several guys from all over—guys with special abilities. Thor is one of them."

"Thor?" Jane tried, but she couldn't make much sound.

"They're doing their best, but it doesn't look good. And I'm in the middle of trying to keep the global council from sending a nuke in."

The word "nuke" lodged in Jane's throat.

"Um…okay…" she managed, shutting her eyes and pressing her fingers to her forehead. "So what does that…I mean, what does that have to do with me?"

"Thor tells us that Loki threatened to come find you," Fury said.

Jane's eyes opened. She went still.

"And do what?" she murmured.

"We don't know," Fury admitted. "And Loki's actually pretty distracted right now, but we don't want to give him another game piece to play with. Which is why we're hiding you. I'd appreciate it if you stay put. I'm trying to get a handle on things here—but as I said, it's not looking good."

Jane didn't know what to say in answer. Fury sighed heavily.

"I'm not giving up yet," he said. "But just in case—I want to tell you that it's been an honor knowing you, Miss Foster."

"Thank you," Jane managed.

"Goodbye."

The call cut out. Jane stood there, motionless, then slowly lowered the phone and stared at the blank screen. She swallowed.

"Miss Foster," the agent cut in. "Your room is just up here."

"Yeah," she whispered, her eyes unfocused. "My room…"

She walked the rest of the way in a haze, absently feeling the agent pull her along by the elbow. Another agent opened a door to her left, and the man nearest her reached in and flipped the light on inside the small room.

"Call us if you need anything."

"Okay. Thanks," she said automatically, and stepped through. The door clicked shut behind her. Silence fell.

White walls, floor and ceiling. White nightstand and lamp. White double bed. She didn't notice anything else. She limply let her phone slide out of her grasp and thud softly onto the quilt. She took a deep breath. It shook. Then she reached up, slid her fingers through her long hair and took a fistful.

"Thor…" she breathed, her brow furrowing hard. She clenched her jaw, turned and began to pace beside the bed. Her feet made no noise on the carpet. She lowered that arm and pressed the fingertips of both hands to her lips. Her heart beat unsteadily against her breastbone. Her knee bumped the nightstand. She paused.

Slowly, she turned back, picked up her phone, and sat down on the bed. She touched the "contacts" button with her thumb and watched the list pop up.

_Darcy_.

Jane's gaze slid over that name. Not long after the Destroyer incident, Darcy had gotten a boyfriend and transferred to a different college on the east coast. Jane hadn't really talked to her in almost a year. She scrolled down.

_Erik_.

Jane bit her lip. No point, there—his voice mailbox was full. Full of messages from _her_. But he'd been so busy lately, with the Cube and SHIELD, that he'd only returned her calls a handful of times. And none at all, recently. She kept scanning.

_Humphrey's Pizza. _

_ Isabella's Diner._

_ Hank's BBQ._

_ Cal-Tech Admin. Office._

And that was the end of her contact list. Jane swallowed hard, staring at it. She'd had more than forty names there when she was in college. But as time went by, as she'd slowly drifted away from each classmate and teacher, she had whittled down her list.

Now the world was ending, and she had nobody to call.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then lifted her face, took a deep breath and tossed her phone down on the bed.

A slight form caught the edge of her vision. Her head came around.

She stared at the wall opposite the door—right into the dark eyes of her own reflection.

Jane froze. She frowned. Had there been a mirror there the whole time…?

Wait.

Her reflection was standing up straight, her hands at her sides.

Her hair looked darker—halfway pinned up, curly.

She wore a brown, v-necked, long-sleeved dress with black embroidery, and a silver necklace.

Jane risked a glance down at herself. She wore a t-shirt, jacket, jeans and boots.

Her skin crawled. Her eyes pulled back up and met those across from her.

Her reflection's eyes looked bright, her face flushed.

Jane's face turned ice cold.

She screamed.

She leaped up and slammed back into the door, arms flying up to protect her face. The other one's eyes went wide.

The door shoved open. Jane tumbled forward and spun around.

"Miss Foster, what's wrong?"

The agent's gray eyes urgently searched hers.

"There's a—" Jane yelped, spinning back around—

To an empty room.

Her thoughts stalled. Her gaze swept through back and forth, her heart pounding so fast there was hardly a space between beats.

There was nobody there.

"I…I uh," Jane panted, trying to keep standing up straight. "I saw…"

"What? What did you see?" the agent demanded, leaning in further.

"Uh…" Jane swallowed, staring at the blank opposite wall. She cleared her throat. "A mouse. I saw…a mouse." She turned back to the agent, taking a deep breath. He raised his eyebrows.

"A mouse," he repeated flatly. "Miss Foster, we're a hundred feet underground."

"I…Maybe I just thought I saw a mouse," Jane amended, nodding. His eyes narrowed at her.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she answered, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, sorry. No big deal."

He watched her for a second longer, then nodded once.

"Okay. Call me if you need me. I'll be right outside."

"Okay," Jane nodded, fixing her smile. The agent glanced through the room one more time, then withdrew and shut the door again.

A hand slapped down over Jane's mouth.

Jane screamed again—but the cry stifled in her throat. Arms shoved her back against the wall and pinned her.

"Sshh!" a voice hissed right in her face. Jane's wide eyes stared into identical eyes, just inches away.

"Now promise me you won't scream and I'll let you go," a low, calm voice promised—a voice that sounded as familiar to Jane as her own heartbeat, yet more alien than anything she'd ever heard. Those brown eyes bored into her—and Jane suddenly realized she'd been completely immobilized. She jerked against the other woman's hold—she couldn't move. Not even an inch.

"Stop it," the other woman ordered. "You're not going anywhere until you listen to me, understand?"

Jane swallowed again, hard. Then, she nodded. If she could just get her to let go of her face, then she could scream for the agent—

The other woman dropped her hand—

Then pointed at Jane's nose.

"Don't even think about it."

Jane blinked.

"What?" she rasped.

"Yelling for that agent," the other woman, in Jane's own exact inflection and expression, warned sharply. She let go of Jane, and took a step back.

Jane started breathing again, raggedly—but she couldn't say anything. The other woman stood there, gazing back at her for a long, silent moment, looking like nothing more than Jane's exact reflection.

Suddenly, the other one smiled, her eyebrows raising and drawing together, shattering the illusion.

"I've seen a lot of weird things," she confessed, glancing Jane up and down. "But I think that this _might _have to be the weirdest."

"Who are you?" Jane tried. The other one met her eyes. Her smile faded.

"Who do you _think_ I am?"

Jane's hands closed.

"I'm…" She tried to steady her breathing. "I think I'm hallucinating."

The other one's eyebrows raised and she sighed, nodding.

"Yeah, I know." She regarded Jane seriously. "But you're not."

Jane shook her head, her heart speeding up again.

"No. _No," _she insisted. "This is impossible—"

"Listen, neither of us have a lot of time right now," the other one glanced around the room, as if gauging something Jane couldn't see. "So you're going to have to get over it and try to follow what I have to say."

Jane didn't answer. The other one glanced at the door, then back at Jane.

"Okay," she began in a low voice, taking a deep breath and gesturing with both hands. "My—our—_the _theory about space-time, about traveling from planet to planet, or realm to realm—everybody here knows that it works, right? If you have enough power and the right conduit?"

It took a moment, but Jane finally got her head to nod.

"Well, there's another layer to that," the other one went on, her dark eyes intent on Jane's face. "And it's linked to both the power and the conduit. Realm-to-realm travel takes an extreme amount of energy, and because it creates a bridge that cuts through _time _as well as space—which makes this kind of travel practical—it has to be focused correctly and precisely, like with Asgard's bifrost," the other one indicated Jane with one hand, as if acknowledging that she already understood. Which—somehow—Jane did. The other one went on.

"If it _isn't _focused correctly and precisely—if interstellar travel is conducted with a great deal of power but _without _the right conduit…" the other one paused. Her mouth tightened. "Then time starts to tear."

"Wait—_time?" _Jane repeated.

"Space-time," the other corrected. "Causing a single path of possibility to split into two or more diverging paths."

Jane went still, letting that sink in.

"Okay, so…" Jane prompted, trying to keep her breathing even.

"About seventy years ago," the other one told her. "The Nazi Johann Schmidt used the tesseract without knowing how. He opened a random portal into space and traveled through it—but it blasted a hole in space-time, causing the structure of the rest of the universe to sort of…" the other one reached up with both fists and tugged them apart from each other. "Split at the seams," she finished. "After that, anybody who performed interstellar travel without a bifrost—or something like the Jotun ice casket—would tear the holes open a little more, and also run the risk of replicating himself and creating different time-planes for his existence."

Jane tried to dislodge her thoughts from whatever a "Jotun ice casket" was and digest the rest of the other one's sentence. But when she did, she almost lost her balance.

"So wait, you…_I_…tried to go somewhere and split off into…" Jane couldn't finish. The other one watched her.

"No," she said. "Loki did."

"_Loki?_" Jane repeated, bewildered. The other one nodded.

"After Thor left earth to confront him, Thor broke the bifrost bridge, disrupting a portal that had been open to Jotunheim." The other one glanced worriedly at the door again and quieted her voice. "Loki fell off the edge of the bridge and down into that dissolving portal. And he split into two planes. That we…know of," she finished, muttering. She was starting to look pale…

"Where did he go?" Jane asked, brow furrowing as she fought to concentrate.

"I don't know," the other one admitted, shrugging heavily. "I know where he went _one _of the times. He landed in New Mexico. I found him—I was looking for Thor." She laughed lightly. "I thought he was Thor." Her expression sobered, tightened. "Loki was hurt. So I took him back to the lab with me and he…We…" She swallowed. Her expression took on a tinge of pain. "It's a really long story, and it…I mean, it doesn't really make any difference to you. Right now."

Jane couldn't draw a breath to say anything to the contrary—but all at once, she felt as if she was standing on a huge precipice, about to step forward and gaze out across…

"The point is that you're in danger. We all are," the other one said firmly, shaking Jane's attention. "Only a few seams are still keeping everything from blowing apart."

Jane stood for a moment, then shook her head, her gaze flitting back and forth.

"I still can't believe any of this," Jane whispered, feeling faint.

"I know—I've had several hours to think about it and discuss it we still don't…I mean…" the other one held her hands out to the sides and shook her head helplessly. "All I can tell you is what I saw."

Jane waited, watching her, a heavy, icy sensation sinking down through her stomach. The other one took another labored breath. Her eyebrows drew together.

"I saw through a split seam," she murmured, her gestures becoming shaky. "It was like…I was standing out on my bedroom balcony and the sky just…It just cut open. I saw flashes of where Loki went—when he took a different path from the one I knew. There was a lot of…" She swallowed. "A lot of darkness. And pain. And then I saw him on Midgard—just pieces. Fighting underground. Standing on a mountain, with Thor. And I heard them talking." The other one stepped closer to Jane. "Thor traveled here to Midgard to find Loki _without _a bifrost—it still isn't fixed here, where you are. Which means Thor made the rips even _worse_. And he's planning to use the Cube to take Loki back to Asgard. Again, without focusing it through a bifrost. But _if _he does that…" The other one closed the distance between them, staring straight into Jane's eyes. "That will be it."

"What do you mean?" Jane whispered.

"The universe won't be able to stand the strain anymore," the other one said simply. "It'll tear apart, and then…I don't know." She shook her head. "But I _really _don't want to find out."

"What…What are we…" Jane started. "I mean, what do you want _me _to do about that?"

"They're after him—Loki," the other one said. "And I know the guys they have teamed up against his army. It _won't_ win. _He _won't win. And then Thor won't waste anytime before grabbing Loki and trying to use the Cube to get them both back to Asgard." She shook her head. "None of us will even know what hit us."

"So, I have to…" Jane fished.

"You have to keep them from getting to Loki," the other Jane finished.

Jane's mouth fell open.

"_Me?"_

"You are _literally _the only one who can," the other one said. "We've all talked it over a thousand times—"

"We?" Jane cut in, frowning. "Who's—"

"I don't have time to tell you," the other one shot back, eyes flashing toward the door for the third time. "Look, the Thor in this realm is too busy right now, and I don't trust any of the SHIELD agents with something like this. Besides, they couldn't get there fast enough."

"I can't either!" Jane objected.

"Yes you can," the other one said—and reached up, pulled off her necklace, and held it out to Jane. The amulet dangled from a silver chain right in front of her.

Jane's eyes fixed on the stone in the center.

The limitless, sparkling, twilight-colored stone.

Her heartbeat calmed.

Her mind stilled.

For a moment, the universe balanced on the head of a pin.

"What is that?" Jane murmured into the deathly silence.

"It's called the Lokistone," the other one answered. "And it'll take you to him."

Jane's eyes flew to the other one's.

"To _Loki_."

"Yes," the other one nodded. "Wherever he is, whatever he's doing. You'll be right beside him in a matter of seconds. It can also make you invisible." She smiled wryly. "I didn't find that out until just recently, though."

Jane stared at the purple stone as it twinkled in the artificial light. The jewel looked deep, multi-layered…fathomless…

"What else does it do?" she whispered, echoes of suspicions creeping through her mind.

"I'm not sure," the other one admitted. "Lots of things. It can be a beacon, a life support…A storage for memories…"

Jane stared at her other self.

"You aren't _seriously _suggesting that this little rock can—"

"Yes, I am," the other one said. "It's magic."

Jane's vision faded in and out again. She pressed her hand to her forehead.

"I'm…"

"No, no, you have to listen—I just have a couple minutes left," the other one insisted, stepping close and grabbing Jane's jacket collar. Jane straightened, gasping, but couldn't look away.

"Take this," the other one ordered, pressing the necklace into Jane's palm and closing her fingers around it. "Put it on and _never_ take it off. _Never." _The other Jane wrapped Jane's fist in both her hands—her grip felt warm and too tight. Jane gulped. The other one went on.

"Just follow where it leads you. It won't steer you wrong, I promise," she said, her brown eyes burning. "Okay listen to me: When you find him, be careful. I'm not sure what mood he'll be in—but you still have to act quickly."

"What am I supposed to do?" Jane asked.

The other one let out a short sigh.

"Your best bet will be to let him take you hostage."

Jane's pulse thudded.

"_Hostage—!"_

"He won't hurt you," the other one stated.

"How do _you _know—" Jane cried.

"He won't," the other one shook her head, once. "He won't."

"What about the Cube?" Jane demanded, her mind flailing. "Thor will _still _come after him and still want to—"

"I know, I know—you're just buying us time," the other one cut her off. "_We _have the tesseract, back at my end—we're trying to figure out how to sew everything back together with it. We just…We can't have Thor or anybody else trying to use it _here_ until we've got things under control, okay? Keep your head down, keep calm, stay _with _Loki, whatever you do—but don't let him see that necklace. And don't tell him about me unless you absolutely have to," the other one commanded. "Whatever happens, he _will _protect you. Understand?"

Jane nodded yes—but that was far from the truth.

She must have betrayed something on her face. Because the other one fell silent—and then her brow twisted. She gasped, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Look, I know…I know that people have probably told you…" the other one tried, her voice shaking. "Just don't…" She pulled in a breath and blinked—her tears fell, and trailed down her face. She swallowed, and took one last look at the door, then behind her. "I came through a seam and I'm making it worse. I have to go," she whispered. She faced Jane, and squeezed her hand. "Take care of him."

Jane's lips parted, but she was stunned speechless. The other one withdrew, backing up toward the foot of the bed.

"Don't sit and think too long," she cautioned, swiping at her face. "You have maybe ten minutes before Thor and the others find him. And if they do…You'll never be able to get him back."

Jane started to say something—but a twinkle of light caught her attention. She glanced at Jane's left hand...

And a strange hole opened up inside her.

"You…There's a wedding ring," she pointed. "Are you…" Startled, she met the other one's eyes. "You're married?"

The other one nodded.

"Yes."

"To…Thor?" Jane floundered. The other one almost smiled, her tears still glimmering.

"No."

Jane's mouth worked, but there was no way she could articulate what suddenly spun and tangled through her chest. The other one forced a smile.

"Hurry, Jane," she whispered. "And whatever you do…Don't lose that."

Jane lowered her gaze to her fist and eased open her fingers…

The violet stone flashed back at her, like a flame that stood dangerously close.

She glanced up.

She was alone.

Jane sucked in a sharp gasp and covered her mouth with her free hand.

For a long moment, she stood paralyzed.

"Are you…Hello?" she finally breathed, searching the corners of the room.

Silence answered.

"Okay…Okay, Jane…" she murmured, her heartbeat battering erratically against her breastbone. "It's okay, just…" Her throat locked up. Her knees weakened, and she sank down onto the bed, her fingers shaking. Her eyes unfocused and her thoughts slowed to a halt. The edges of the amulet cut into her palm as she squeezed it tight and reflexively pressed her fist to her lips. Her whole body shuddered.

"_Loki_…?" she murmured in bafflement, her lips moving against her fingers.

Searing heat shot through her hand.

She yelped, jerked back and tried to throw the necklace down—

The chain caught on her fingers.

The air shivered.

She went still.

The walls around her wobbled.

Jane clamped her jaw shut. Slowly she got to her feet…

In a windy rush, the room vanished.

Suddenly, she was swallowed in a whirling, roaring gray fog.

She let out a strangled cry. Her hair blew around her face—she pulled her arms close to her chest…

A steady thrum rumbled beneath her feet and vibrated the air, building in pressure and volume until she thought her bones would crack.

Then, all at once, it released—

Sending a gust of rainy wind through her hair and clothes. She drew in a deep, shocked breath of it. It smelled of the sea, of pine forests, of smoldering fire…

A pulse reached her. It neared, sharpened, focused…

Until it gathered together like strands of cobweb, she understood a whispered word in the heart of it.

_"Jane_."

Her head came up and her gaze flew back and forth—but the thick mists still twisted and spun all around her. She could see nothing.

"_Jane…"_

The voice sounded low, masculine—effortless, distant, delicate.

"_Jane_," it called—as if from the other side of a mountain.

_"Jane!" _it breathed—right in her ear. She twitched—saw nothing. She tried to open her mouth to say something…

She couldn't.

A cape flapped against her legs, then rustled and vanished.

A tall shoulder brushed hers.

Soft lips moved against the side of her face.

"_Jane…"_

She twisted, gasping, to see…

No one.

For a long moment, only the wind blasted in her ears. Then—

An unearthly hiss cut the air.

Jane went ramrod straight.

Slithering scales slid against her legs, winding slowly over her feet.

She bit back a scream and squeezed her eyes shut as the heavy, slick body of a giant snake slipped past her. Seething and spitting to itself, it writhed away into the fog. Jane let out a wrenching breath, her teeth chattering.

A dark figure suddenly coalesced far in front of her—tall, winsome, lean. He had his back to her—he turned his head, but did not see her.

_"Jane…!" _he cried, searching. The wind caught his voice and swept it away.

"Look out!" she exclaimed, the ice-cold memory of that snake seeping up through her legs.

He didn't hear her. He dissolved and vanished.

A flurry of movement. The snap of jaws.

A quick, startled cry.

Her heart hitched.

"Hello?" she choked. "Where are you?"

No answer.

She tried to move forward—couldn't. She gritted her teeth and fought it. It felt like she was trying to slog through mud…

But she caught traction. Steadily, she gained speed, though she couldn't see more than a foot in front of her.

Her toe caught something. She fell down—crashed to her hands and knees. The Lokistone rattled in her left hand.

The air in front of her cleared.

Swirling black tendrils, like ink spilled into water, coiled and curled across the mercurial ground. Then, as she watched, frozen, it solidified, took shape…

Into the figure of a man, lying on his back.

He wore obsidian armor—it glimmered like mirrors. His black cape spread out haphazardly yet majestically beneath him. He had a white, narrow, marble-like face, long lashes, and lengthy, wild raven hair. His graceful hands rested on his lower chest—his face expressionless, his mouth silent. Colorless, motionless.

Except for the jagged, bright-red wound on his left hand.

Jane crawled to her feet, horrified, strangled.

The savage wind calmed. The mist retreated.

The air blew clear—brightened.

The ground hardened beneath her feet. Hardened to smooth stone floor.

She blinked—then had to squint…

Out an immense, floor-to-ceiling window at the shining peak of the Chrysler Building, and the shimmer of the river beyond.

Her mouth fell open.

The air was completely still—air-conditioned. Except a few gusts wandering in through one of the tall panes, which had been shattered and now lay in millions of pieces all over the floor.

Her breathing sped up and she glanced around…

She was in a high-rise office suite—a bar over to her right, couches over there, desks…

Wide cracks in the floor.

Dread filled her. Her gaze slid downward…

She jolted.

There, at her feet, lay the same man.

But now, his presence was _immediate_—vivid. Real.

He wore battered, dusty gold armor, torn leather, and a shredded emerald cape. His hands lay limply across his middle. Bruises, dirt and lacerations marked his otherwise-perfectly-formed, angular face—his black brows had drawn together, his lips were parted, as if searching for a breath that would not come. His eyes stayed shut.

And the floor had impacted down all around him—as if something had flung him on his back with titanic force and splintered the stones.

He had to be dead.

Jane swallowed, then swallowed again.

For a long moment, she stayed just where she was, holding her breath.

The jewel went cold in her hand.

"Loki?" she whispered.

His chest heaved—he sucked in a breath.

And his eyes flew open.

_To be continued…_

_Review, if you want me to go on! _


	2. Chapter 2

_I have NEVER, in all my years of writing fanfiction, received a response like THAT. It fills me with deepest gratitude, and I adore all of you—and I hope that this lets you know how VERY MUCH I enjoy hearing from every single one of you—your comments, your questions, your feelings, frustrations, everything! I am indebted to you, and I can only hope that I can continue to deliver to you the caliber of tale that you deserve. Thank you, and keep enjoying!_

_VVVVV _

CHAPTER TWO

"_A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."_

_-Jean de La Fontaine_

Jane took five steps back before she knew what she was doing. The echo of his quick, jagged breathing filled the room—she watched his chest rise and fall. He gulped, and his gray eyes searched the ceiling. Jane kept completely still, clamping her jaw shut.

His face twisted in a grimace, he held his breath—and he lifted his head. Brick dust tumbled from his black hair. Slowly, he eased his shoulders up out of the broken ground. Small pieces of rubble slid off and clattered as they fell from between the pieces of his armor. He braced his white, scuffed hands on the floor to either side and pushed himself up to a sitting position. When he had attained that, he slumped forward and gasped in a desperate breath.

Jane watched him, trapped between a fluttering urge to step forward and a powerful instinct to turn and run.

He pulled his legs toward him, bending his knees. He winced, and let out a short grunt. For a moment, his breathing hitched, then slowed as his pale face smoothed and his eyes closed again. He shifted sideways, using his arms to bear his weight, and lifted himself out of the small crater, leaving only his feet inside. For a moment, he sat that way, breathing evenly, his eyes shut.

Then, he opened them and glanced around.

Jane's heartbeat sped up.

He looked at the spray of shattered glass on the floor to his right, then past that at the brick wall. His gaze wandered toward his left, unfocused…

Swept past her. Meandered across the marble bar for a moment, then…

Flashed back to Jane.

Met her eyes.

Her heart stopped.

For just an instant, neither of them moved.

His hawkish eyebrows drew together in a slow, delicate frown. His gray eyes brightened, glimmered with color…

Then, his right eyebrow lifted, minutely.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Real, and stunningly close.

Jane's mouth opened. For a moment, her thoughts scrambled—

Then she said the first thing that came to her mind that _didn't _sound completely ridiculous.

"I'm working. I just…" She gestured aimlessly. "I came up here to see what all the noise was."

The eyebrow raised further.

"Really," he said flatly. "And what does…" He took a deep breath, and pressed his left hand to his lower ribs. "What does Stark Industries need with a woman who studies the stars?"

Jane stared at him. Her pulse thundered.

"How did you…?" she tried.

"I recognize you," he muttered, never taking his eyes off her. "My brother came to visit you some time ago—perhaps you remember. Spent three days of his banishment in your company." The skin around his eyes tightened and he drew his legs out from the indentation, the heels of his boots scraping the rocks. "As acting king of Asgard, I took it upon myself to watch him in his exile. Closely." He brought his legs around and got up onto his knees, then rested back on his haunches, letting his eyelids drift shut. The edge of his mouth quirked. "I stood beside you one evening while you sat by the fire, and he regaled you with stories about the majesty of the nine realms." His small smile grew. "You had no way of knowing I was there, of course."

Chills raced down Jane's spine. He opened his eyes. The amusement vanished from his face.

And with measured, deliberate movements, he rose to his feet, and straightened to a towering height. His eyes bore into her.

"So do not play with me, Jane Foster," he hissed. "Answer my question."

Jane's blood turned to ice.

_Okay, Stark Industries, _her mind flew. _Okay…_

"I'm…" she swallowed, unable to turn away from his razor-sharp gaze. "I was…Pepper Potts called me in. To consult about a new project."

"Consult," he repeated, that eyebrow raising again, wryly this time. He turned and glanced out the window. "I doubt there will be much consulting in your future. All anyone here is thinking about is how to keep the buildings from collapsing."

Reflexively, Jane followed his glance out the window…

And for the first time, she caught sight of the several wide plumes of black smoke slowly swelling up toward from the street and into the sky.

And with an intensity and vividness that caught her off guard, raw memories of 9-11 footage flashed across her vision.

Debris falling, smoke billowing, sirens wailing…

People running, screaming, covering their mouths with their neckties or their sleeves. Or leaping from the upper windows of burning buildings.

Except all the way up here, she couldn't hear any of that. Everything was silent.

Like watching live coverage of terrorist attacks on a muted TV.

He—_Loki —_rested his left forearm on the glass and leaned forward, gazing out over the wreckage, his eyes sweeping back and forth. Like a vulture waiting in a tree above feasting lions.

Flames burst out of a middle storey of the Chrysler building.

Glass flew as the orange and black explosion boiled out into the daylight.

Jane staggered back. She closed her hand around her throat.

_What am I _doing _here? _

Panicked, she looked around for a door—

There. There, it wasn't that far away, maybe thirty feet to the left. If she could just…

The stone in her palm turned to frost.

She winced, rammed it into her jacket pocket and let go of it…

Loki leaned his forehead on his wrist and his shoulders slumped. He swallowed hard, and lost the rest of his color. The cuts on his cheeks and nose stood out like red ink. He pressed his right hand to his middle.

Jane stayed very still for a long moment as the door faded to the back of her mind. Then, she slid her left foot forward. Then her right. Slowly, she walked across the cracked floor toward him, and stopped just a couple feet away.

Jane inhaled carefully, then did it again, steadying herself.

"Are you..." she tried. "Are you all right?"

He twitched toward her, frowning hard, blinking and trying to focus. When he finally did, he just watched her.

Now she could see that he didn't have gray eyes—they were green. And one pupil looked slightly more dilated than the other. He blinked again, his frown sharpening.

"What kind of question is that?"

"You look like you're hurt," Jane clarified. "Do you need to sit down?"

He said nothing for a long time.

Then, his expression turned cold. He lifted his chin.

"A rather insignificant little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, glancing her up and down. "And called by such a plain, simple name." He canted his head minutely. "Though Erik Selvig calls you _Fjellfiolett_, does he not?"

"Erik?" Jane straightened, her heart skipping a beat. "What—how do _you_ know Erik called me—"

"His name might fit you if you had anything of beauty about you," Loki went on, as if she hadn't spoken. His voice hardened, and he leaned toward her. "I could think of a few that would suit better." That chilly smile came back, and his emerald eyes pinned her. "You know who I am—I can see that you do. Yet, when all the rest of your kind are fleeing, _you _come _toward _me." He shook his head once. "This is the very definition of madness."

Jane couldn't breathe. Her gaze flitted back toward the door—

He saw it. His eyes narrowed at her.

"Or cunning," he amended quietly. He turned carefully and glanced at the door, then back at her. "Hm," he murmured.

"What?" Jane managed, lost.

"Fury sent you here. As a lure," he said, taking half a step back from her, then another, though always watching her. "He is trying to flush me out into the open—a sportsman sending a dog in after the pheasant, hoping the bird will do something foolish so he may shoot it from the sky."

A flash of indignance shot through Jane. She opened her mouth—

He smiled again.

She shut it.

He backed up further, toward the stone fireplace, and leaned back against it. He stifled a cringe and folded his arms across his chest. The crater now stood between them. He let out a sigh and assessed the broken window.

"Your luck is running high today, _Fiolett_," he said."I have no intention of laying a finger on you. I'll not give any of them an excuse to skip the formalities and simply kill me where I stand." He carelessly glanced at her. "And I have neither the energy nor the inclination to tote you along on a white stag chase." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. His eyes grew distant. "The tesseract has failed. The portal is closed. My brother will be here soon, bringing with him the next stage of this nightmare." His voice quieted, as if he were talking to himself. "At least it will be a familiar nightmare." He stared out front, as if dismissing her. "Now get out of my sight."

Jane just stood there, weighing his words and frantically trying to put the pieces together.

And then…

A light dawned in her mind.

She stopped, bewildered.

Loki didn't _want _to escape.

For some inexplicable reason, he wanted to be _captured._

By Thor.

All of a sudden, it felt like the floor was tipping.

_Now what?_

"_Thor traveled here to Midgard to find Loki _without_ a bifrost—it still isn't fixed here, where you are._ _Which means Thor made the rips even worse. He's planning to use the Cube to take Loki back to Asgard. Again, without focusing it through a bifrost. But if he does that…" _

That voice—intimately familiar and unspeakably strange—rippled through her memory. Jane reeled, squeezing her eyes shut. Her hand drifted into her jacket pocket.

Her fingers closed around the amulet. She gripped it so hard the edges of it cut into her hand.

But as her thoughts stumbled over each other, spinning and rattling, one managed to catch.

Her eyes opened.

She braced herself.

And she took a step toward Loki.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice sounded loud in her ears.

"What?" Loki snapped, finding her again, his brow tightening.

"What do you mean, familiar?" Jane pressed.

"You remind me of an inquisitive little animal," Loki said harshly. "One who curiously noses its way into a bottle of poison or a trap that breaks its neck."

"You said the next stage would be a familiar nightmare," she said. "I just wondered when you became familiar with the way we try people here."

He frowned.

"Why should I be?" he wondered. "I am returning to Asgard."

Jane deliberately waited a beat before speaking.

"Who told you that?"

Loki looked at her sideways.

"I know it to be true," he said. "The All-Father summoned a great deal of unwieldy magic to conjure Thor here—he was sent to find me for just that purpose."

Jane took a small breath…

And lied.

"That isn't what I heard."

Loki paused.

"Then what, pray tell," he murmured slowly. "Did you hear?"

Jane heaved a sigh—she fervently hoped it didn't sound forced.

"I _am _working, but I wasn't called here to consult," she said, turning her attention out the window again and fighting to keep her thoughts flowing. "SHIELD wants me to act as a witness to the attack on Puenta Antiguo a year ago, as a part of your trial here."

"That will not happen," Loki countered sharply. Jane turned back to him.

"I just know what Nick Fury told me," she said plainly. "He told me SHIELD would be holding you here. Inside some compound, I think, while they get together a jury and witnesses and everything. He told me to get to New York as soon as I could and to find Pepper Potts at Stark Industries. So…here I am." She held out her right hand for a moment before dropping it. Then, she stuck it in her other pocket and stood there.

"No," Loki growled. "Thor would not allow it."

Jane shrugged again.

"Nick didn't seem too worried about Thor."

Loki stayed just as he was, unmoving, fixed on her.

Then, a small tremor ran deep through his frame.

His gaze flickered.

"Why would you tell me that?" he asked.

Jane's eyebrows went up and her face got hot.

"I was just…wondering."

His expression snarled and he stepped away from the wall, dropping his arms.

"No," he said again. "You—"

The glass wall exploded.

Jane staggered sideways, covering her face—the amulet stayed in her hand. She tripped over the broken rocks and slammed down onto one knee. Pain lanced up her leg as glass rained down over her back. She covered her head and limped to her feet. Her muscles seized up and her leg gave out—

A hand grabbed her under the arm and hauled her up, then spun her around.

She gasped, eyes watering.

Fingers slid around her neck from behind. A thumb rested on the base of her head. Fingertips pressed against her pounding jugular.

She stopped moving.

Her vision cleared—

Just in time to see a mammoth green beast whose anatomy resembled an overgrown, muscle-bound cage-fighter shoving through the glass and broken window frame. His head almost hit the ceiling. He bared his teeth and let out a bone-breaking roar that sent Jane's heart plunging through the floor.

Five more scarred, dusty, battered people swarmed in behind this monster, then ducked under his massive arms. A tall, shapely, red-headed woman all in black. A blonde, watchful man in red, white and blue. Another man, in black, with a stylish beard and mustache and watchful dark eyes. A shorter, cold-eyed man in fighting gear who immediately put a wicked-looking arrow to the string of his black bow and drew it back—aiming at Jane and Loki. And a towering, armor-clad, broad-shouldered, golden-haired prince.

Thor.

_Thor._

Jane's pulse skyrocketed.

"Woah, woah, easy!" the mustached man warned his fellows, holding up a hand. They all stopped. The green beast huffed and snarled, baring his yellow teeth.

Thor's shocked, sky-blue eyes swept over the two already in the room, then fixed on Loki—who stood _right _behind Jane.

"Loki," Thor rumbled, his voice shaking. "Let her go."

"Why should I?" Loki asked. His chilly voice issued from just above her head. Jane gritted her teeth and stayed _very _still.

"C'mon, Slick," the man with the bow muttered, sighting down his arrow. "Show's over. Let go of her."

"And if I don't?" Loki asked.

"I'll put this shaft through your brain," the man answered.

Thor looked sharply over at the archer, forehead tightening—

But he didn't say anything.

Jane felt Loki's thumb twitch on the back of her neck.

"And what's to stop you from doing that once I release her?" Loki wondered. "Isn't that what you have planned for me, after all?"

The man smirked against the feather near his mouth.

"Believe me, I'd like nothing better."

"But something stays your hand," Loki guessed. "Orders from Nick Fury, I presume?"

The man with the arrow and the red-headed woman exchanged a sideways glance.

Loki's fingers slid a centimeter further down Jane's neck.

"Ah," Loki breathed. "So it's true."

The blonde haired man frowned. Loki's grip tightened on Jane—she bit the inside of her cheek.

"You plan to keep me here," Loki accused, his voice rising. "To subject me to your primitive courts and your demeaning punishments—and the mighty _Thor _will simply agree to these terms, despite my status as a prince and a citizen of Asgard!"

"No, Loki—" Thor tried, stepping toward him.

Loki abruptly lifted his forefinger and pressed underneath Jane's jaw, then pressed his little finger to the base of her throat. It didn't hurt, but it made her suddenly lift her head and take two steps back into his armored chest.

"Hold it, hold it!" the mustached man yelped.

The woman yanked her revolver up and aimed at them.

Jane's eyes went wide.

The man with the bow relaxed his arrow fingers.

"Last chance, buddy," he called. "Let her go."

"Stop!" the blonde man cried.

"Do it!" the archer shouted at Loki.

The monster reared his head and bellowed, rattling the glass.

"Loki—" Thor entreated—

The man loosed the arrow.

Jane jerked backward—

And the whole room was instantly engulfed in a hurricane of gray mist.

_To be continued…_

_Please let me know what you think! REVIEW! _

_(And find me on Facebook! I have an open account, and we talk about this fun Loki stuff all the time:))_


	3. Chapter 3

_I cannot thank you enough for all of your fantastic reviews! I truly do endeavor to answer as many as possible—I value them so highly! Please, keep them coming!_

_For the FIRST section, I listened to "Norwegian Folk Song-Tor Jaran " I'll post a link on my facebook page if you can't find it._

_For the LAST section, I listened to "Gladiator Soundtrack: Sorrow." _

_Enjoy!_

CHAPTER THREE

"_If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found." _

_~Author Unknown_

_Snap_.

The soft, swirling mist became a whiplash of icy wind.

Rocks solidified under Jane's feet.

The numbing haze of the fog vanished—replaced by the immediate, unsteady sensation of standing completely still—

At the top of somewhere very, very high.

Jane took a breath—she suddenly realized she'd been holding it. Her forehead tightened. It felt like a hand and forearm wrapped around her whole head, the fingers pressing against her face—her forehead touching metal. Shivering, she blinked her eyes open.

She stared down at jagged gray rocks beneath her boots. Her feet stood between another set of tall black boots. A tattered green cape rustled against both their legs. Both her hands, one still holding the amulet, clamped down on a leather hem at the front of the waist of a towering black form. Her forehead was leaning against the center of his cold breastplate.

Jane's awareness came rushing back. She gasped—

He let go of her. She yanked herself backward. Her heel slipped on a rock—she threw out her arms to keep from falling down.

Her gaze jerked up to see him.

He stood tall, stark and vivid against the colorless sky—his black hair wild in the wind, his angular face white as snow, his bright, unearthly eyes searching the horizon, his brow snarled in a disconcerted frown. She could see every detail of his finely-wrought armor now, though the cold light dulled the gold and the emerald, and faded the shine of the metal. Gray circles surrounded his eyes—his lips were gray.

He clamped his fists as his eyes widened, flitting back and forth like a hawk's. His mouth tightened—he swept his gaze across the distance.

"Where are we?" he demanded, low and rough.

Jane's eyes abruptly focused past him.

Immense sky, devoid of any buildings.

She turned her head to the right…

And let her breath out in a long, slow rush.

To the right, just five feet away from their boots, the granite ground fell away in a sharp cliff…

To plunge downward into a limitless, dizzying abyss.

And then, thousands of feet across that fathomless gap, the earth soared upward, climbing to the heavens as a vast, endless chain of mountains. The peaks knifed into the sky like rows of dragon's teeth, every edge jagged and harsh. Jane couldn't spot even a sprig of a bush or a single twisted tree, though moss grew between the rocks like veins of ore. Fingers of fog skulked between the mountains' knees; faraway, low and silent as ghosts. Clouds, like pale slate, covered the tall sky from edge to edge. Icy, wet wind gusted Jane's hair and clothes, biting her jeans.

And then, as one blast rushed through her, she flooded with recognition.

"I've been here before," she gasped, squeezing both the necklace and the collar of her jacket.

"_Norge_," Loki said.

Jane blinked as that name echoed through her mind, her lips parting, as she stared across the endless, lifeless range of peaks.

Loki stumbled back away from her, turning and starting down the small hill. His feet slid through gravel, sending it loudly rattling into the shallow ravine below. He skidded to a stop at the bottom, leaving one foot planted higher than the other. His hands stayed clamped as he looked quickly back and forth, squinting at the sky, then out at the faraway mountains.

He blinked, frowning. Abruptly, he lifted his face toward Jane. For just a moment, he studied her, the wind tossing his raven hair.

Jane locked in place.

Loki stilled.

His eyes flickered with a brief, strange light. Then he blinked again and winced away, his breathing quickening. He put an absent left hand to the lower right part of his ribs, his glance fluttering, his lips parting as he took three deep breaths.

His brow cleared, his eyes went distant, and he swallowed.

"You…" Jane started. "_You_ didn't know where we were?"

Loki didn't answer or look at her. Jane's already pounding pulse thudded through her head now, and she tried to swallow too. She couldn't.

Shakily, she slipped the necklace back into her pocket, her gaze wandering dazedly out over the range. She shifted around toward the other direction, toward the south, her feet shuffling as she strained to keep her legs steady.

Nothing but mountains. Infinite rising and falling of gray rock, skirted by heavy mists, and the shadow of black forests far, far below.

And cold. Penetrating cold. The sky carried the feel of early evening—the sun, somewhere above those unforgiving clouds, was setting.

"You said you'd been here before."

Loki's voice brought her around. He stared at the stones, his right eyebrow lifted, his head inclined toward her. She cleared her throat, groping for some semblance of sentence structure.

"I…Yeah. I think so. When I was little."

"What part?" he pressed. He gestured briefly. "Does this portion look familiar to you?"

"Well…" Jane's brow furrowed as she looked across the mountains again. "I'm not sure." She glanced sideways down at him. "_You_…don't know?"

He raised his head and glared at her.

"The last time I was here was several thousand years ago," he bit out. "I would imagine that just a _few_ things have changed."

"But you brought us here," Jane countered.

The muscles in his jaw worked. He twitched his head down, then stared over the north cliff. Jane watched him carefully.

"Didn't you?" she wondered, her pulse starting to pick up again.

For a long time, he didn't answer.

Finally, he took a short breath.

"I know this country," he said. "But unlike you, I have no need for warmth or shelter. So unless you wish to perish of frost this coming night," he looked icily at her again. "I would suggest you try to remember anything you can."

Jane gazed back at him, unbalanced.

He hadn't answered her question.

She attempted to swallow, and succeeded this time. Then, she took a bracing breath and turned toward the south.

"Well…_Something_ looks familiar." She narrowed her eyes and focused, an odd feeling overshadowing her. Absently, she pointed. "That mountain. Right there…"

"Which?" Loki asked, turning to face the same direction.

"The one straight across from us. Past this closest valley, here. The rock formation sticking out of the west side—the one that looks like…" She canted her head. "Like a face..."

"I see it," Loki said. "What of it?"

"I…" Jane started, then suddenly couldn't finish. Her chest had clenched, her lungs useless. "I _have _been here," she rasped. Her breath broke free of its bindings and sped up as her memory raced. "With Erik, and my dad…We stayed up here at Erik's cabin in the mountains while they studied a comet! We stayed up all night, because the sky was so clear—"

"And do all these lovely memories involve any sort of structure that can shelter a person from the elements?" Loki cut in. "Or are you mistakenly assuming that I care about the holiday you took to gape at the stars?"

Jane faced him, frowning.

Loki raised his eyebrows in sharp expectancy.

He looked white as ash.

_"You're just buying us time." _The remembered voice suddenly pierced Jane's mind. "_We have the tesseract, back at my end—we're trying to figure out how to sew everything back together with it. Keep your head down, keep calm, stay _with_ Loki, whatever you do._

_Take care of him."_

Jane's heartbeat calmed down. She set her jaw, watching Loki, then nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "There should be a place to get out of the weather."

"Get on with it, then," Loki ordered, nodding toward the distant mountain.

Jane just studied him for another moment. Then, she gingerly stepped over and slid down the small hill as well, sending pebbles scattering. She landed several feet in front of Loki, and set her eyes on the dark, misty valley below. Then, taking a deep breath, she put one foot in front of the other and headed south, down the mountain, Loki following soundlessly at her heels.

LLLLL

They hiked for a long time in silence. The air smelled like frost. No birds sang. The sky dimmed, and the cold seeped into Jane's skin. She wanted to wrap her arms around her chest, but she had to keep her hands free for safety's sake—the ground was rocky and uneven and steep, and sometimes she had to forge a path through brambles of heather or slide painstakingly down between two boulders because there was no other way through. Besides which, her knee still hurt from falling over the hole in Stark's floor.

Jane's boots scuffed and bumped against the rocks. Loose pebbles skittered down away from her feet, echoing as they struck hard surfaces below. Loki's feet made no noise—Jane had to pause once in a while to listen for the rustle of his cape behind her. She was afraid to turn around and look for him. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her face and realize that she only vaguely had _any_ idea of where they were going.

She was breathing hard, dirty and exhausted, by the time they reached—rather suddenly—a sharp incline that ended in a thick, black, hushed forest. She had to stop for a moment to gauge a safe way down.

And in that moment, she heard Loki's respiration. He was drawing sharp breaths through his nose. She almost turned around, then winced and decided against it. He would say something if he wanted to stop—he would _order _her to stop.

Mindfully, she started down, testing each foothold before putting all her weight on it, and holding onto the rough, icy rock face with her left hand.

Finally, she hopped down off the last rock and landed in a carpet of brown pine needles. Countless ranks of dark, gnarled trees rose up in front of them. Jane huffed, and hugged herself. Her breath clouded around her face. She glanced back, just enough to see Loki's dark form slip down from that same rock, before she stepped into the trees.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "That mountain was exactly south of us…but now I can't see it." She glanced up and bit her lip. "No stars. Great. Maybe the moon will come out…" She went quiet and struggled to keep her bearings straight so they wouldn't wander off in the wrong direction. That could _not _happen—they had no food, no water, no warm clothes…

Jane's thoughts trailed off as her brow furrowed.

She could hear Loki's feet, now. _And _his breathing.

She slowed down, her frown deepening as she listened. It sounded like he was slightly dragging one of his legs, maybe the right one. Just enough for his toe to snag the piles of pine needles. And his breathing caught with each step, only drawing in between.

She hesitated, but kept walking. Slower.

An hour passed. The light grew heavier. Jane permanently kept her arms around herself now, and her jaw muscles spasmed in an effort to keep her teeth clenched. She steadied her gaze straight ahead, counting her steps. And she was _not _thinking about _anything _else. No. She refused. Because she _knew_ that the instant she started to process where exactly she was and what she was doing, she might just lock up, run her forehead into a tree and stop functioning.

"South, south," she whispered urgently, glancing up at the sky for the hundredth time. It hung like a low, smoke-colored ceiling above the twisted branches of the trees. "C'mon, just give me _one_ star…"

Her steps swished through the needles as she squinted upward. Shadows thickened all around, dimming her vision…

She halted.

Hers were the only footsteps.

She spun around.

Fifty meters behind, Loki leaned back against a tree, one knee bent. His eyes were closed, his head tilted, his left hand held to his right side.

Jane took one step back toward him—and a question sped through her mind and fell out of her mouth; a question that had entered her head the instant she first saw him, but only just now had caught up to her.

"What happened to you?"

For a long second, he didn't answer. Then, he swallowed.

"What happens to everyone in war," he answered. "Fighting."

"Are you…" Jane started, then remembered the last time—and rephrased her question. "…coming?"

His eyebrow flicked. His jaw gritted, and he stood away from the tree, his face tightening. He kept his hand where it was.

"Go on, _Fiolett,_" he growled, his eyes opening and glittering even in the half light. "Unless you want to freeze."

Jane narrowed her eyes.

"Why do you care whether or not I freeze?"

He kicked his head back, his expression hardening.

"A dead hostage is no hostage," he answered flatly.

A chill ran down Jane's back. She closed her hands. Later, she would somehow get him to tell her how _exactly_ he knew that nickname for her.

Later. When she could feel her fingers and toes again.

Stiffly, she turned back toward the empty forest…

And hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. Turning back and forth had made her lose sight of her orientation point.

"Okay…" she sighed, struggling to stay calm. "Just keep going…" She started forward once more, taking note of Loki's shuffling sounds behind her. He was following.

Darkness crawled through the forest, and finally overcame them. Jane stretched out her hands in front of her to keep from running into the trees, and more than once, her palms grazed rough bark. It was _so _cold—her feet hurt with it, all the way up to her ankles, and she couldn't sense her fingers. On top of that, she would soon be completely blind.

A shift in the heavens—a slight lifting, easing. She paused, her hand on a low tree branch.

The clouds parted. Soft moonlight slipped through.

She gasped.

Not ten meters away, the forest ended—

And beyond that tree line a great, barren valley opened.

In the middle of which stood a small, rectangular, man-made structure.

"There it is!" she cried, her words fogging up the air in front of her. "It's Erik's house—I can see it!"

Just behind her, Loki let out a low sound, but said nothing. Jane glanced back, saw him still there, and hurried forward. He followed.

As soon as she left the shelter of the trees, all semblance of warmth disappeared. Suddenly, Jane realized that she'd had no _idea _what cold was just a few minutes ago. Now, the wind knifed straight through to her bones and she couldn't make her numb feet move fast enough over the uneven, dead grass to escape it. She shut one eye against the blasts and ducked low, gripping her jean jacket closed with both hands.

Several awful moments later, she hopped up onto the flagstones of the front steps of the small house. Her eyes darted over the low, wooden structure—she could see the grassy roof and chimney in the moonlight, and the glint of glass in the little loft window above the front door. Shivering hard now, she stepped under the small overhang, reached out and grasped the ice-cold, rough-hewn metal doorknob. She twisted it—it didn't give. She yanked on it—it rattled loudly through the valley.

"Oh, crap—I _know_ there's a key somewhere…" Jane chattered, bending down to grope by the empty flower pots near the posts around the door.

"It's open," Loki muttered, leaning on one of the posts.

"No, it's locked," Jane answered, her hands scraping blindly around the stones. "I just have to find the—"

"It's open, I said," Loki snapped. "Go in, will you?"

Jane straightened and looked back at his black form—he didn't look at her, and kept his shoulder braced on the post.

She frowned. He didn't move. She reached out and twisted the doorknob again…

And it gave. The door creaked open.

Pitch darkness waited inside.

Jane stood for a moment, a different kind of eerie cold invading her chest.

Then, another arctic flash of wind sent her striding through the door, light or no light.

Immediately, she stumbled over a short step—and chided herself. She had _always _tripped over that step! She felt her way further in to the main room, blinking but seeing nothing. She turned a little to the left, avoiding the side of the kitchen door that she knew was there, took a few more steps—

And ran right into the back corner of the couch. The sound thudded through the silence.

"Ow," she muttered. She ran her hands down the soft cloth armrest toward the front of the couch, then risked venturing out into nothingness for two, three, four steps…

Her hands met the rough stone of the mantelpiece.

"Please, please," she whispered, sliding her fingers along the top of it.

_Clink_.

"Aha," she smiled. She stretched up with both hands and felt a candle in a stand, and a little box of matches. Quickly, she struck one of the matches.

Orange fire lit up the whole room, making her flinch away for a second. She lit the candle, then set it up on the mantel again and turned around to the dimly-illuminated room.

There stood the long, beaten couch, facing the fireplace. To the right side of the couch stood a deep-backed armchair, inclined toward the mantel as well. Past that and to her far right, the white-painted breakfast table and chairs were tucked into the nook next to the south wall, right beside the front door. Straight across from her, just as she recalled, waited the door of the tiny kitchen. And off to her left, the door to the only bedroom hung open—a little closet-of-a-place that contained—if her memory served—a twin sized bed. The floor was made of wide stones, occasionally covered in ratty rugs. A set of antlers hung above the mantle, and a battered cedar trunk stood against the east wall of the living room. Darkness shrouded the ceiling and the corners of the small, huddled space.

Loki blended in with the shadows near the door—the candlelight could only reach edges of his pallid face, and could not touch the rest of him.

"You should rest," he said quietly, glancing toward the black kitchen door.

"It's still too cold in here," Jane objected. "We need to start a fire or—"

"Do not make me say it again."

Jane stopped. The deadly force behind that soft phrase killed whatever case she had been about to make.

"Okay," she whispered. She ducked her head and moved to her left, toward that open door. She paused at the threshold, and glanced back at him.

He stayed motionless, almost as if he were a part of the ancient house. She turned her back on him, entered the little bedroom and shut the door.

LLLLL

Jane had only had a panic attack once before: in the middle of the night after her dad died in a car wreck. She had been lying in a sleeping bag on the floor at Erik's house, and all of a sudden her heart had started hammering so fast, so painfully, that she thought she would pass out—or die. At the same time, her whole body had broken out in a clammy sweat, her breathing had shortened and quickened, and all she could do was grip the slick sleeping bag and shake.

That's how she knew she was having one now.

She lay in a darkness deeper than black, on a strange, creaky bed, staring upward and seeing nothing, her heart thudding like the drum roll at a hanging. She swallowed, then swallowed again and again, her stomach churning. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to take deeper breaths, deeper breaths…

Ten minutes ago, without warning, everything had hit her.

And ever since, she had been fighting with all her will not to let out a blood-curdling scream.

Her fingers closed in a death grip around the old quilt and sick shivers raced across her skin. She was sweating, but every time she let out a grunt, she could feel vapor fog through the air above her face.

Her heart-rate skyrocketed—she sucked in three frantic breaths and threw herself into a sitting position, pulling her quivering hands to her chest. Her thoughts battered aimlessly like a bird through the corridors of a huge house. She flung her covers off herself, stood up and started to pace. Her legs felt like jelly—and the floor felt like ice. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, then caught her toe on her jean jacket.

She bent and snatched it up off the floor and tugged it on, then rammed her hands into her pockets.

The fingers of her left hand blundered into the necklace.

She stopped pacing.

The stone was warm.

A listless frown crossed her face, and she pulled the necklace out. It dangled by a looped chain—she could feel it, but couldn't see it.

Her lips moved, trying to remember something someone had said—she was supposed to _do _something with this, something important…

She slipped it over her head and tugged her hair out of the way. The amulet rested above her breastbone.

Her body settled. She drew in a deep, careful breath. Her heartbeat subdued.

Exhaustion swept over her. Her eyes drifted shut, and she crawled back onto the bed again.

Shuddering, she curled up and pulled the blankets up tight around her chin.

Her thoughts settled down as well—lighted in a quiet place, and eased.

She knew this house.

She _had _been here before…a long time ago…

It smelled like cedar. And fireplace. And snow. Familiar smells.

But there was Loki…

Loki.

An indistinct vision flickered against her eyelids. Brilliant eyes. A quiet, delighted smile forming on soft lips. A clear-cut, raven-like silhouette against a morning sky. A low, dancing laugh that sounded as if it had crossed a thousand miles before it reached her…

Jane's absent frown returned as she nuzzled further down into the pillow.

When she had stood in Stark Tower, the arrow speeding toward her, Loki had been behind her with his hand on her neck.

When she had stood on the top of the northern mountain, his arm had been around her head, and her forehead had been turned toward his breastplate.

He had turned her away from the arrow, and put himself in the way.

Jane sighed, her vision and thought process trailing off. Her frown relaxed, and she fell asleep.

LLLLL

Jane jolted awake. Shock traveled through her whole body—she reflexively reached up and pressed her left hand to the side of her face. It felt like she'd just spent all day out in the snow. For a moment, she lay still.

Then she heard something.

A low sound. Like the rustle of leaves.

Or a faraway jingle of a wind chime.

Her brow furrowing, she slid out of bed, wrapping her jacket even tighter around herself, stood up and shuffled to the door.

She grasped the doorknob, then turned it. She grimaced, praying it wouldn't make any noise…

It didn't. Then very, _very _slowly, she pulled it open.

She paused.

A shaft of moonlight illuminated a fractured portion of the living room, spilling in onto the floor and extending across the half of the couch closest to her.

Loki sat on the floor in this beam of silver light, leaning back against the couch.

And his armor lay all around him like splinters.

His figure was utterly colorless—his face and hands white, his clothing and hair black; his armor dulled pearl, scattered to either side of him. And as Jane watched, he drew his left leg carefully, carefully toward him, and tucked his foot under his right knee. Then, he shut his eyes, and began pulling off his long, sleeveless coat.

Jane's alertness rushed back to her. She measured her breathing and suppressed it—realizing in terror that if he caught her _staring_ at him…

But if she darted back to bed, the _door_ might creak…

Closing her fists, she stayed where she was, trying to stay hidden in the shadow.

The coat fell off his shoulders onto the floor. Then, his eyes still closed, he reached up with both hands to tug a leather breastplate off—but his right arm flinched down. His jaw tightened. So he dug his fingers in and pulled the breastplate up and over his head with just his left hand and set it down. He tilted his head toward his right side and began to undo a dozen leather ties from his hip up to his underarm. As he did this, his leather shirt loosened and gapped open.

Suddenly, Loki halted. His hand dropped. His eyes rolled back in his head and his chest heaved.

Jane's eyes flashed.

Loki swallowed, then righted himself, his brow knotting. He kept untying, his left-hand fingers trembling. Finally the whole front of the shirt came loose—he pulled down on his right sleeve and it came off—he had to raise his shoulder and bare his teeth before it came. The rest of his shirt fell from him after that, and at last he was bare from the waist up.

He lifted his eyebrow, the skin around his eyes tightening. He raised his right arm slightly, and risked a look down at his side.

Then he screwed his eyes shut, turned his head away and broke out in a sheen of sweat.

Jane covered her mouth with her hand.

Loki's whole side was coated in blood. It glistened in the silver light—scarlet and stunning.

And a jagged white rib protruded from his skin.

Jane's vision swayed in and out, and for a moment she thought she might lose consciousness. But she couldn't move, and soon her eyesight returned, and focused more vibrantly than it ever had.

Loki's entire pale, muscular upper body was covered in bruises. Some looked superficial, with a green tint. Others looked deep—dark black and purple, marking the back of his shoulders, his upper chest, and one spotted his throat.

And stranger scars, deeper ones, like black, spidery lines, trailed down from the base of his neck to the backs of his elbows. The edge of a silver chain around his neck caught the light.

Loki held his hands out in front of him and flexed his fingers, then slowly, slowly reached down with his left hand—and touched that rib.

His hand shocked away from it. Wrenching pain crossed his face and he let out a soft, choked yelp.

Jane clamped her hand harder on her mouth and everything inside her twisted.

Loki's head bowed as the blood on his upheld hand now glimmered. He drew his left leg in even tighter, his breathing coming in strangled spasms.

He blinked his brilliant eyes open and he gazed fleetingly up at the moon as tears fell. He took five short, quick breaths, then quickly pressed his whole hand down over his wound.

Light flashed under his palm.

His face contorted—his teeth bared, and he released a single, grating sob.

Jane felt warm tears trickling down over her fingers and the back of her hand.

"_Gah!" _he cried breathlessly, his features loosening, his unfocused eyes flying open, his own tears dripping from his chin. His right arm fell limp to the floor—he slouched back against the couch, breathing unevenly.

His left hand, quivering badly, came loose of the rib. He lifted it. It was drenched in blood. And the wound still bled.

His eyebrows came together in a sharp, startled expression. He swallowed, and searched the empty wall in front of him. He glanced down at himself, his gaze running listlessly across his bruises.

Keeping his mouth shut, he inhaled and exhaled rapidly, without pattern, and he reached up and hooked his fingers around the pendant at his throat. His fingers slipped loose, and left the silver piece bloody.

He ground his teeth, shut his eyes, and reached out to the empty air with that left hand. He began to rub his fingertips together.

_"Kommer," _he muttered, his lips barely moving. "_Kommer hjelpe. Kommer…kommer…_" He lifted his hand higher, then turned his wrist and grasped something invisible, and pressed his hand again to his wound.

Another flash lit the night.

He let out a labored sigh.

After a moment, he lifted his hand…

The rib had disappeared underneath flesh again.

He rested his hand on his middle, his fingers curling shut. He stared out in front of him. Tears trailed down his cheeks, and he didn't act as if he noticed. His left thumb twitched, then twitched again.

Jane sank to the floor. Her knees couldn't support her weight anymore. She leaned against the doorframe, her hand still covering her mouth. And for the rest of the night, neither of them moved.

_To be continued…_

_Review! Review, lovely readers!_


	4. Chapter 4

_I do hope you will forgive me for the length of time that has passed between chapters! I have been madly busy—but this story, and all of you, have never left my mind. Your reviews and encouragement mean the world to me, and it is for your sakes that I find the strength and inspiration to keep pursuing this tale. Thank you, and enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER FOUR

"_What a gloomy thing, not to know the address of one's soul." _

_~Victor Hugo_

Loki stood without moving, staring out the window at the black mountainside, and the sky beyond that glittered with distant, pinprick stars. His left shoulder leaned against the wooden window frame, one hand resting on the sill. He breathed evenly, purposefully. The constellations told him that dawn would arrive in half of an hour.

A few minutes ago, he had finally hauled himself to his feet and shuffled across the thin rug, around the couch, and into the dim, tiny adjoining space where he found a counter and sink. Using what little magic he could summon, he had coaxed a clunky metal hand pump in the wall to spill ice water over his bloody hands, washing the sticky, scarlet mess from his palms and down the basin. He had then given his upper body a brief and torturous sponge bath using several rags he found, and donned his long-sleeved leather tunic again. He had been unable to keep his fingers from shaking.

After that, he had returned to his pile of armor, knelt, and properly unconjured it to the space-between-spaces—that magic, unseen hiding place that only he knew about—tucking each piece invisibly beside a replacement helmet, a silver pen, and a small, glittering purple stone.

Now, Loki stood on a cleared floor, and his eyes unfocused in the darkness to the point of unseeing.

He listened.

The muted wind buffeted the outside of the hovel. Deep within the walls, the old wood creaked, softly. All else was silence.

Thus, Loki could _hear_ his heart, audible in the motionless air, pounding against his breastbone. His pulse thudded upward in his throat and down to his gut, making it difficult to stand still.

He sharpened his vision again, and gazed out over the moonlit terrain—then again to the stars and sky. Unfamiliar. Cold. And opaque as a smokescreen that hides an advancing army.

Motion.

His eyes flew to it—his heart banged.

He focused…

And ground his teeth.

A gust had just tossed the tops of several trees outlined by moonshine.

He drew in a deep, uneven breath through his nose, and folded his arms tight against his sore chest. His pulse did not slow. Nausea pressed on his stomach.

He glanced back, around the little sitting room—the room as small as a mouse hole, yet walled in by a house as exposed as a bird nest on the ground. Loki's attention roved to the shadowed lengths of it. A cat in a corner had more room to maneuver.

His gaze lighted on the partly-open door of the bed chamber. His eyes narrowed. He couldn't see through the small gap. She wasn't moving—but he could sense her inside. Quiet and still. Fragile. His mouth hardened.

He turned back the other way and glared at the now-snuffed candle—he had extinguished the flame last night, the instant he had been able to cross from the front door to the mantel. No light would leak out into the night. He would make certain.

He closed his hands to fists and faced the window again, buckling down.

Control had escaped him since the moment he tangled with Banner—control of his own body, his magic, his thoughts. He must regain it.

He _would_ regain it.

His lip twitched. He closed his eyes.

The scent of ash and wet stone overpowered his memory.

Frost on his skin.

A bandaged face leaning close to his. Gnashing of sharp teeth. Rancid breath.

_"If the Tesseract is kept form us__**…"**_

The distant voice snarled through his mind.

"_There will be no __realm__**…**_

_No __barren __moon__**…**_

_No _crevice _where we __cannot find you__**."**_

A slap of pain across the left side of his face.

He blinked his eyes open.

He saw nothing.

The wind wuthered the outside of the house. Deep inside the walls, the ancient wood groaned, softly.

Everything else remained silent.

LLLLL

Jane awoke with a start. Instantly, she winced as pangs darted through her neck, right shoulder and back. Frowning, she rubbed her face. She had fallen asleep sideways, leaning against the wall just inside the doorframe of the bedroom.

Gray daylight filled the room, coming in through a narrow window. She massaged the back of her neck. Now she could finally see the chilly place where she had spent the night.

It was very little. Almost like a closet. The single bed tucked against one corner and wall across from her, to the left of the bed stood a little night stand, and to her back stood a dresser. At the foot of the bed sat a cherry wood trunk. Thin brown carpet covered the floor, and the walls had been painted a dingy taupe a long, _long _time ago, and it curled and chipped in the corners. Jane adjusted and sat back against the wall, facing the bed and the window—the light coming through it warmed her a little. She glanced to the far right, at another narrow door—one that led to the only wash room. She wrapped her arms around herself. Her stomach growled. She frowned. When had she eaten last?

Her memory wandered backward, into the shadow—then snagged on frozen images cast in moonlight.

Images of blood, of flashes of blue.

Of tears.

Her throat closed and her eyes widened.

She climbed to her knees and turned around. Taking hold of the wooden doorframe with both hands, she carefully leaned forward, peering out into the sitting room, searching…

He stood by the window, arms folded. A black, lean, white-faced figure. He stared outside, but his gray eyes looked unfocused. He was fully clothed again, minus his armor. And she couldn't see any trace of blood.

The sudden tension in Jane's chest eased. She sank back to the floor, and cast a glance back over her mussed bed.

Her stomach growled again.

"Okay," she muttered. "First things first." She stood up—and every single muscle rebelled with stiff aches. She stumbled to a full standing position, shoving her hair out of her face. She felt like grunge woman. She would have to do something about that—_after _she took care of the necessities. Like food. And heat.

She grabbed her boots off the floor and shoved them on, then straightened, faced the half-open door, and tried to gather her thoughts. And her resolve.

For a second, she just stood there. Then, she closed her fists and started forward.

And stopped.

"_Keep your head down, keep calm, stay _with_ Loki, whatever you do," _The recollection murmured in her ear. "_But don't let him see that necklace."_

Fumbling, Jane reached up and tucked the amulet underneath her shirt. Then, setting her teeth, she stepped out and crossed the threshold.

She entered the sitting room. It was _much _colder and brighter in here—

A floorboard creaked under her foot.

She halted.

He turned his head toward her—minutely. He did not look at her.

The air turned heavy.

"I'm…" Jane started, keeping herself calm. "I'm going to go outside to the shed where the generator is and see if I can get it started. That way there'll be hot running water in the bathroom, and the stove in the kitchen will work."

He said nothing.

He faced the window again.

"Okay…" Jane mouthed, making no noise. Her fists tightened and she got off that offending floorboard, crossed behind the couch and headed to the front door.

She felt his attention follow her, though he did not shift. Jane made a conscious effort to walk evenly and keep her face blank. She grabbed the handle, pulled the door open, and went outside.

Frost instantly bit at her fingers and face, but the bright wind felt and smelled fresh, carrying the scent of pine and snow. She blinked, adapting to the morning light…

And paused on the stone step.

The valley swept down far away from her feet—grey and wide—gathering into a tumbling, wandering landscape filled with black trees. At the edge of the forest, like a ribbon of silver, a river cut the mottled earth. To either side of the valley, the mountains loomed—forbidding, sharp and colorless. Clouds still hid the sky, but the sun peeked through enough to lift the gloom.

Jane nodded to herself. It all looked familiar, now.

Fastening her jacket, she stepped down onto the scraggly yard, turned left and walked around the house. Her boots swished through the grass, and the gusts blew her hair. Ducking her head, she hurried the short distance to the shed—which looked like an addition to the house—outside of which stood a big, white propane tank.

"Oh, I hope it's not locked…" Jane said through her teeth as she hopped up to the door of the shed. She took hold of the latch and yanked on it—the door squeaked open. "_Yes_. Good, good." She left the door open so she could see inside, pushed her hair out of her face again and assessed the generator. Erik usually kept the place up to date, bringing in new propane when it was needed so he could come up here and visit whenever he wanted. From the look of the inside of the house, Jane guessed he'd probably been there two, maybe three months ago, probably just to check on things. Hopefully, the generator would have no trouble turning on…

She stepped inside the narrow shed and maneuvered around the large white box encasing the machinery. Her knee clanged against the corner.

"Ow!" She made a face, and rubbed her leg, then wriggled further until she got to the back of the generator. She squatted down, pulled off the casing to the control panel, eyed all the switches, then swiftly flipped all the right ones.

Nothing happened.

Jane groaned and let her forehead fall against the metal. Then, she gripped the top of the generator with both hands and hefted herself to her feet.

"Okay," she sighed. "Tool kit, tool kit…"

LLLLL

As soon as the door shut behind her, Loki had swept soundlessly around the couch and into the small adjoining room, ignoring the twinge in his midsection. He had lighted in front of the pump and basin, and now watched out the window in front of him, arms quietly crossed.

The morning was grim and cloudy, and wind whipped the grass and low bushes that grew on the hillside. But Loki watched the swinging door of the small wooden addition to the house—the door through which _she _hurried in and out, braced against the wind, to tamper with the tubes connected to the large white metal tank beside that shed. Twice, she carried shining metal tools of some kind as she knelt on the ground beside this tank, bending, twisting and pulling on these tubes as her dark hair gusted in the wind.

Loki raised his left hand and rested his forefinger against his lips, observing closely. She moved with crisp deftness, a frown line forming between her eyebrows, her bright eyes usually downcast as she paced back and forth, in and out. She made no move to set off over the desolate hills, nor did she pause to scan the horizon. Neither did Loki sense any sign of the stilted, limited "calling" magic that had bombarded him in New York—the kind of magic that Midgardians used for long-range communication through the empty air; which meant she was not attempting to send a signal.

Therefore she was, in fact, trying to "fix the generator."

Loki's jaw tightened.

It made no sense.

Not if she truly had just been in Stark tower to fulfill a scientific duty. Not if she truly had just been curious, trying to make conversation.

He bit the inside of his cheek. He had known the instant the words left her mouth that she had planted that doubt in his mind on purpose, just in time for the little band of merry heroes to come bursting in. What he had _not_ known—and had been unwilling to risk—was whether or not that doubt could be substantiated.

But _why_ would she do such a thing?

And she was so calm—as if she had a mission.

A clearer purpose than _he _did.

And there was still the question of their transport here. _This _had been the furthest place from his mind. But it had to have been in his mind _somewhere_. Somehow. It could not have been _her_ doing. It could not have been.

A line formed between his own eyebrows. He closed his hand to a fist.

And he watched.

LLLLL

"_Yes_! I am a _genius_," Jane crowed, swiping sweat off her face as the generator hummed loudly to life. Then, she let her head rest down on the floor again—she was lying on her back—and heaved a huge sigh, closing her eyes for a second. Her limbs felt wobbly, her stomach a gaping chasm.

She dragged herself to a sitting position, then got up and let the tools slip out of her grasp and jangle to the floor. Oil and dirt covered her ice-cold hands—she tried to keep from touching her clothes. They were dirty enough already.

Jane shoved through the half-open shed door and pushed it shut, then hurried around the house toward the front. She glanced up at the sky. It was hard to tell what time it was—she'd been thrown off by the time change, and she couldn't really see the sun. But if she had to guess, it was around eleven in the morning.

She pushed through the front door, shut it behind her—

And tripped over that step again.

"_Guh!" _she yelped. She almost fell completely down, but stumbled and caught herself on the doorframe of the kitchen.

Loki stood inside, by the sink. His head whipped around—his eyes flashed at her.

She cleared her throat and stood up straight, dusting off her hands. She shot a glance at the doorframe. She'd smeared oil on it.

"Um, it works now," she let out in a huff. "So…yeah. I'm going to…look for something to eat." She eased into the kitchen, behind him, trying not to look at him. He didn't move.

Jane tiptoed past him toward the pantry, the back of her neck needling as she felt him watch her—as she realized he'd _been_ watching her, through the window.

_Relax, _she muttered to herself. _First things first…_

She took a deep breath and pulled the pantry door open—

And her heart fell.

One can of stew sat on a dusty shelf at eye level.

That was it.

She ducked down, peering into the depths of the other shelves. They were empty.

_So…Erik refilled the propane tank, but not the food supply._

She stood up. For a moment, she had to pause to force back a spasm of panic. Then she mentally shook herself.

"One thing at a time, Jane," she whispered.

A deeper silence answered.

She blinked, and turned her head—

Loki was gone.

Jane stood still, startled. Then, she crept back to the door and peeked out into the sitting room.

He was stationed in front of the window by the fireplace again. Like a sentinel on a wall.

Jane hesitated, then walked back to the pantry, snatched the can down, and headed to the stove. And to her grinning delight, when she switched on the gas, blue flame leaped up, and a little warmth broke through the icy cold.

LLLLL

"Food."

Loki bit down to keep from jumping when her crisp announcement rattled the quiet. He twisted, frowning, to see her carrying a pot with a handle in one hand and two bowls and two spoons in the other. She set them all down on the little table in the nook, then turned around and re-entered the cooking room to return with a dipper. She ladled out some sort of soup into one bowl, then the other, and set one bowl at the other end of the table. Then, she took the other bowl and spoon, sat down, and began to eat as quickly as one can without spilling or making noise.

For a suspended moment, Loki just stayed where he was, frowning. But she kept eating, not looking at him.

Finally, he stepped closer, studying her as he moved. She looked disheveled and dirty, a smudge mark across her nose and forehead, her hair hanging loose. She was so small, her hands graceful, her features soft and delicate. She had long, black eyelashes. Sometimes she winced, and paused to blow on the soup before scooping more into her mouth.

Loki stopped behind the wooden chair opposite her. He rested his hand on the back of it, glancing warily down at the soup she had set aside for him, before venturing a look at her.

She lifted her face. For an instant, clear brown eyes met his.

Cautious. But unafraid.

She resumed her meal.

Loki frowned harder.

And he broke his long silence.

"You imagine that I am going to eat this?"

She blinked and looked up at him again, swallowed, then half shook her head.

"You don't have to. But that's all there is."

"What do you mean?" Loki asked.

"There's no other food," she clarified. "This is it—there's nothing else in the pantry."

"I have no need of it," he stepped back from the chair. "Or anything, for that matter. I've gone months without food in the past, and I would have to fast _much _longer before I would put whatever-this-isto my lips." He gestured to the brown, lumpy soup.

She paused, and looked up at him. Something flickered in her eyes. Then, her attention fell on his stew.

"Can I have it, then?" she asked.

He raised one eyebrow.

"It is yours." He meant it as an observation of fact. She took it as permission.

"_Thank_ you," she said fervently, stood up, reached across and took his bowl.

The words caught him by surprise. His lips parted, and he almost objected—

But nothing came to mind. He closed his mouth.

She settled back and began eating from his bowl, more calmly this time. She finished all the soup—everything from both bowls and the pot.

When she was done, she put the spoon down, sat back, sighed, and cast a glance out the window, across the grey moors.

"So…" she murmured. "What now?"

Loki set his teeth, folded his arms and gazed out the same window.

"Do you…" she started carefully. "I mean, are we going to stay here, or…"

He almost smirked.

"Why do you imagine I would tell you what I am planning?"

"There isn't any food," she repeated.

"So you said."

"I _have _to eat," she insisted. "We have to go out and—"

Loki's chest clamped.

"You forget your place," he snapped. She fell silent. And she stayed that way for a long time.

Finally, he heard her take a low breath.

"I can't survive very long without it."

He turned to her, and let his smirk show through.

"And you think my heart breaks even the slightest bit over that?"

A shadow crossed her eyes.

Then, her expression hardened.

"I thought you said a dead hostage was no hostage."

The levity fell from Loki's face. He turned away from her.

"Neither of us will leave this house," he stated.

"At least let me light a fire—"

"_No_."

He kept his voice soft—but he unleashed an under-tremor so terrible it rattled the window frames.

She couldn't answer.

A few moments later, the chair grated against the floor. She got up, walked across the room, entered her bedchamber and shut the door.

Loki's right side tensed and panged. He closed his eye, then blinked them both open as the pain subsided. He set his jaw and his stance, his gaze sweeping out over the empty valley, and refused to dwell on the lingering, meaty scent of the vanished stew.

LLLLL

Jane rinsed her hair out beneath the weak stream of lukewarm shower water, then twisted the squeaky knob to turn the water off. She slipped out of the tiny closet of a shower onto a thin mat and snatched up a towel, quickly wrapping it around herself and drying off, her teeth rattling. As soon as she was dry—though she made a face as she did so—she pulled on her dirty clothes again, then toweled off her hair as thoroughly as she could.

She had found quite a few useful toiletries in the cabinet under the sink in the teeny bathroom—soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, et cetera—so she had been able to clean up enough to feel comfortable again. Except for her dirty clothes. And the chill that the _barely _warm water had given her.

She braided her hair in front of the cracked mirror, tied it off, then bit her lip.

She hated it—but there wasn't much for her to do at the moment except try to conserve energy.

Which did _not _include standing here and shivering like a ninny.

So, she crossed back into the bedroom, opened the door to the larger, sunnier sitting room, crawled into the bed and cocooned herself in blankets, wrapping them all tightly around her and curling up into a ball.

In a few minutes, her tremors subsided, and she almost felt sleepy.

She could still see him out there, standing in front of the window by the table, his back to her. His figure cut sharp, dark lines against the faded paint and the gray light.

She closed her hand around that amulet—she hadn't taken it off, even in the shower.

It didn't feel cold. But it didn't feel warm, either. It just felt like…

A necklace.

She sighed, suddenly tired.

But though she lay there the rest of the day, she couldn't fall asleep.

LLLLL

Jane sat on the floor of her bedroom, staring at nothing, hearing nothing but her shallow breathing.

In, out.

In, out.

The flame of a candle hovered atop the dresser. No other light pierced the dimming evening.

Three days.

It had been three days since she had eaten.

At first, she had rummaged through the kitchen, trying to find a stray can, a package of dried fruit—anything. But she had found nothing. All the while, _he _had watched her from afar, _saying_ nothing.

She had gotten socold during the nights, she was sure she would freeze to death. But each night, just as she was starting to think she couldn't stand it one more minute, the sun would filter in through the windows, and a little warmth would come back. Enough to keep her alive.

She drank water. Lots of it, to fill up her stomach. And today, she had only been able to sit out in the front yard most of the afternoon, in a ray of sunshine, battling back the haze and the darkness that threatened the edges of her mind.

But when she had shuffled back inside, she had fallen down.

Her foot had caught on that infuriating step, and this time, she had had no strength to catch herself.

She had crashed to the floor, wrenching that hurt knee and thudding onto her palms.

For several moments, she contemplated just lying down and staying there. But the floor felt like ice—it was so cold it burned her fingers.

So she hauled herself to her feet, leaned on the doorframe of the kitchen for a second and caught her breath.

He stood in front of the mantle, just looking at her. But she hadn't been able to focus on his face.

Then, she had made her way to her bedroom, and sank down near the foot of the bed and leaned sideways against the post, one leg out straight, the other bent, her hands limp in her lap.

She had been like this for several minutes. Or hours. Maybe half a day.

Something glimmered in the edge of her vision.

She lifted her head—it felt like it weighed a ton. She squinted, halfway focusing.

It looked like a buckle. Or a latch. Under the bed, near the head of it.

She leaned forward, then crawled shakily. She reached out and fumbled for it—

Her fingers curled around a handle. She pulled.

A heavy, square object came groaning out into the small light.

A brown suitcase, buried in dust.

Jane frowned.

Either she had seen this somewhere before—or she was hallucinating.

Her weakened hands played with the latch, which had winked at her. It opened with a clack. She lifted the lid.

And stopped.

Neatly folded inside were women's clothes. Jeans, pajamas, sweaters, socks, and a fur-lined coat.

And an achingly familiar lilac scent drifted up toward her.

Jane's eyebrows drew together painfully. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

Her cold hand fluttered up and pressed to her lips. The other hand strayed out to touch the collar of the out-of-date pajama shirt.

"_Oh, no! I left it there!"_

"_What? Where?"_

"_My suitcase! At Erik's house! Oh, and it had Jane's surprise in it, too…"_

A woman's voice and a man's answering tones echoed in the back of Jane's head.

"_Well, we'll just call him. He can ship it."_

"_No, no—that would cost him a fortune. I'll just get it the next time we go!" _

Jane squeezed her eyes shut.

This was her mother's suitcase. Her mom and dad had come here once when she was little—and Jane remembered the suitcase debacle. Now, as clearly as she ever had.

Her mom had never been able to make a return visit Erik's Norwegian house. She had died before she had a chance.

Jane opened her watery eyes as her hand wandered further into the clothes, remembering the feel of each piece…

Her fingers hit something hard.

"…_it has Jane's surprise in it, too…"_

She slid the object out.

It was a colorful picture book—one with a lovely illustration of Cinderella and her pumpkin coach on the cover. The silver title read "_Fairytales of Europe._"

It fell from Jane's grasp and landed softly on the clothes.

She gasped, then gasped again, then wrapped her arms around herself, leaned sideways against the bed and made no sound.

What was she doing here? Had she lost her mind? What had she been thinking, lying to someone who almost _destroyed _New York City, so he would take her _hostage? _

She swallowed again, and closed her eyes.

He was waiting for her to die. Snake-like, patient—so he could make the escape he had probably been planning all the while, without the bother of toting her along.

Unless his patience was wearing thin. In which case he might decide to kill her himself and save some time…

Her brow furrowed.

She forced her eyes open, and turned her head.

He stood in her doorway. Darkness obscured most of him. Bright eyes watched her.

He lifted his gaze past her, to her window.

"I have concluded that we have not been followed," he said. He looked back down at her. "Go to sleep. We leave before dawn."

"Wha…" Jane croaked. "What are we going to do?"

"What sensible people do when there is no food," he answered turning his back on her and disappearing again into the black room. "We go hunting."

_To be continued…_

_Review, dear hearts! I read every single one! _


	5. Chapter 5

_I CANNOT thank you enough for all of your heart-warming support. Suffice it to say, you are both challenging and inspiring me, and I truly hope you continue to enjoy this little tale. _

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER FIVE

"_Cold be hand and heart and bone,  
and cold be sleep under stone:  
never more to wake on stony bed,  
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.  
In the black wind the stars shall die,  
and still on gold here let them lie,  
till the dark lord lifts his hand  
over dead sea and withered land."_

_-JRR Tolkien_

Jane sighed. The air felt warm—in her lungs, on her face. Her whole body relaxed. Her eyelashes fluttered sleepily. She felt that she was lying on her side, a blanket half covering her. But it was daytime. Golden sunshine kissed her face.

Strong, slender fingers entwined with those of her left hand, which rested on the cushion next to her. She absently realized that the someone who held her hand was sitting beside her, his hip resting against hers. And he was humming.

It was a quiet, haunting melody—medieval and lilting. He had a deep, perfectly-pitched voice. He rubbed his thumb back and forth against the back of her hand.

She listened, half awake, as the song sank into her mind. At last, she opened her eyes.

A young man with black hair and a pale, noble face—and bright green eyes, smiled down at her, out of focus in the brilliant light.

His smile faded. His mouth and gaze turned solemn.

"Wake up, Jane," he said, in a voice that now sounded very far away.

He squeezed her hand.

Warmth and strength shot through her—jolting from the center of her chest all the way down to her fingers and her toes.

Her eyes darted open—

"Wake up."

A voice—cold and immediate, made her blink and focus.

She lay on her side in a chilly bed, in a grayish room. Weak morning light filtered in from one window. Her head came up—she squinted across toward the doorway…

Loki stood in the gap between doorframes, wearing his long coat again—all colorless and sharp; with a still, white face, his eyes fixed on her. The marks on his nose, lip and cheek still stood out.

"Get ready," he ordered quietly. "We are leaving." He turned, and left her alone.

Jane grimaced as she tried to sit up. She eventually succeeded, the covers sliding off her, exposing her to the cold room.

But somehow, that sudden warmth lingered in her chest. And when she put her feet on the floor and got up, her legs held her, and felt steadier than before.

For a moment, she stood, frowning.

Then, she felt the full force of her hollow stomach.

She shuffled over to the door and pushed it shut, then knelt by her mother's suitcase.

Jane braced herself, bit her lip, and pulled out a whole set of clothes, and the thick coat. Then, she stripped off her jacket and dirty clothes as fast as she could and put on the new, then wrapped the coat around herself. The coat hung down to her knees, buttoned up the front, and tied with a sash. The outside was soft, brown leather, the inside black fur. As soon as Jane secured a knot in the sash, deep warmth seeped into her, and she let out the first relieved sigh she'd allowed herself since she'd gotten here.

She bent, tugged her boots on, then opened the door and ventured out into the sitting room. She swallowed. She felt a little queasy—but a little better than the night before...

_Okay. I can do this…_

He stood by the door, waiting. She walked up to him, fighting the touch of shakiness in her knees. He glanced her up and down, then, without saying anything, opened the door.

No wind gusted through. The air was crisp and silent outside. He stepped out. His feet, usually soundless, made soft taps on the porch. Jane followed him, braced herself, and shut the creaky wooden door behind her.

LLLLL

Jane, fighting a touch of faintness, took deep breaths of the frosty morning air as her feet swept through the grass. She glanced up—the gray sky was lightening in the east, far above the mountains. A soft gust of wind caught her hair, and rustled Loki's long coat. She watched him as he strode ahead of her, stepping evenly and quietly over the rugged ground. She put her hands in her warm, furry coat pockets and tried to make her own steps just as smooth, but she couldn't. Her legs shook. And that strange, strong sensation was starting to drain away.

Her attention wandered. She barely noticed as the ground turned from thin grass to stone that crunched and scraped beneath her feet. Her vision clouded.

She tripped.

A grunt escaped her, but she yanked her hands out of her pockets and caught her balance before she fell all the way down. The clatter of rocks rang through the valley.

Breathing hard, she refocused her eyesight.

Loki, quite a bit further in front of her than she'd expected, stopped and faced her. His dark eyes watched her.

"Come on," he said. His voice carried through the heavy quiet of the dawn.

She swallowed hard, righted herself, and started toward him again.

He waited for her.

She worked her way over the rocky land as quickly as she could, but it felt like forever before she came up next to his tall black form, panting. He appraised her for a second—she barely noticed.

"Come," he said again, and started walking. She did the same.

He didn't walk as fast, now. Either that, or they were going downhill enough that Jane didn't have to work as hard. That was probably it…

Jane stared at the ground as she trudged forward, only conscious of where she put her feet, and the flicker of Loki's coat to her left. They walked for hours. Months. Years…

A shadow fell across them. She frowned, and lifted her head.

The forest loomed. An army of towering, twisted pines, its deep green branches clawing at the sky. And Loki led them straight into the folds of it.

Their feet fell silent on the pine needles.

"Come," he said for the third time—firmly. And he strode right up to a massive pine tree, whipped out a seven-inch, flashing knife and plunged it into the trunk.

Jane jumped. Then, she watched as Loki swiftly carved a narrow, vertical rectangle in the bark. His pale hands moved exactly, his attention fixed on his work. Switching his knife to his right hand, he peeled off the thick, brown part with his left. The wood crackled and snapped. He tossed it down. Then, he dug in with his blade again, peeling away the soft, white wood inside and gathering it between his fingers. Then, he turned and met her eyes, raised his eyebrows—and held the pieces out to her.

"Here," he said. "Eat this."

"What?" Jane managed, confused. "It's wood."

He shook his head.

"It is food."

She hesitated, then stepped toward him, and held out her hand. He pressed the moist, light wood into her palm, then turned and carved out another piece from the trunk—put it in his own mouth and chewed.

Jane tried to say something to object, but suddenly the idea that she was finally holding something _edible _in her hand overpowered her.

She desperately shoved a piece into her mouth and bit down. She had to chew it hard—it was gamey and splintered—but to her surprise, it tasted sweet, and wet. The rich scent of pine flooded her, making her mouth water.

"Pine needles can be used to make tea," Loki said as he cut off more of the tender wood. "The nuts can sustain you for weeks. And the inner bark can be eaten thus, or boiled to feed a king on a journey." He lifted his face, and gazed far up into the branches, holding his knife still. "A pine is a feast."

Jane swallowed—and realized her hands were empty. Trembling, she licked her fingers—

She blinked. He was holding more out to her.

She glanced up at his face for just an instant, then took the offering with both hands. She broke small pieces off and ate them rapidly that way.

"More?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Jane said around a mouthful, concentrating on the pieces she held. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him carve quite a bit more from the trunk, and her hands were hardly empty for one second before he handed her more.

"How do you, a Midgardian, not know this about your own land, your own forests?" he wondered, frowning at her.

"Our moms told us not to eat sticks," Jane muttered as she bit off another piece.

He snorted softly, and glanced around at the trees as Jane chewed.

"Let's go," he said. "You can walk and eat at the same time."

Jane didn't argue. Having something—_anything—_in her mouth and in her stomach felt wonderful. All of her senses clarified—she could see better, breathe easier, and now she could hear the fresh, distant breezes mutter through the needles far overhead.

Loki put his knife back into whatever folds he had hidden it before, and turned and walked away from her, deeper into the shadowed forest. Jane put another piece of pine in her mouth, steadied herself, and went after him.

LLLLL

The ground ahead sloped gradually downward. Jane found herself leaning back a little as she walked, occasionally bracing her hands on the rough, sticky trunks of the crowding trees. She didn't have any more pine to eat, but her stomach didn't feel quite so empty anymore, and her whole body was more awake. That same knee panged a little bit if she put too much weight on it, but she kept up with Loki well enough as he wove back and forth ahead of her—a striking black against the grey and brown.

The underbrush thickened and greened. Soon, she was swishing through it, knee-deep, having to take tall steps to avoid getting tangled in wild rose bushes.

Birds reluctantly twittered far away, in the motionless depths. Jane let out a heavy breath and glanced up—no vapor rose in front of her face. It was warmer in here, with the trees. It was almost a good tradeoff for the creepy quiet. She bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't like forests. They blocked the sky.

Loki drew to a halt in a small hollow, where ivy crawled up the sides of the now massive, ancient, gnarled trees. He cast around, slowly turning, as if studying. Jane stopped a safe distance from him, and followed his glance.

"This is good enough," he decided quietly, his green eyes unusually vivid now. "Stay here."

Jane started.

"Wh—Stay here? Why?"

He leveled a look at her.

"Do you have any weapons?"

She blinked.

"Um, no—"

He canted his head and held his hands briefly out to the sides.

"Do you have experience stalking game?"

"No…"

"Have you ever killed anything bigger than yourself?"

"No!"

He nodded, and smirked minutely.

"_That _is why."

"But—" Jane stammered, her gaze sweeping back and forth through the thick trees. "There's…There's _wolves_!"

He just looked at her.

"It's daytime," he said.

"Why would _that _stop them?" Jane demanded. Loki sighed and half turned away.

"I shan't be far. Call me if any wolves come." He started walking away.

"_Call _you?" Jane cried.

"I will hear you," he said, pausing atop a rock and facing her again. He raised an arm and pointed past her. "Go sit with your back against that tree and wait for me."

Jane turned and glanced at it.

"But—" she tried, and turned back.

He was gone.

LLLLL

Jane huffed, wrapping her arms tighter around her legs as she hugged her knees to her chest. She scrunched further back against the tree, and looked up at the tiny shards of sky for the millionth time.

It had to be past noon. Probably later than that. It was getting cold. And she was hungry again.

She sat shoulder-deep in hardy ferns and tangled vines, which made this spot a _little _softer—but it was still _extremely _quiet. An occasional bird would flit through, far above her head, but nothing else moved. Jane rolled her eyes and readjusted her heels. She could scream his name at the top of her lungs, but she knew Loki was so far away that he would have no chance of hearing her if she did.

The day gradually darkened. Her back cramped up and frost seeped in through her boots. She shivered, then shivered again. A hard, settled cold sank down through her center. Her eyebrows drew together.

Had _this _been his plan, then? He'd rather not waste energy killing her himself, so he'd led her out here to starve in the woods like some unwanted maiden in a fairytale?

She swallowed, her chest tightening as she bit the inside of her lip again. She should get up. She should just get up, and start walking back to the…

A low, gliding movement stalled her thoughts.

Ahead of her, a little off to her left, a shadow slipped through the brush.

Jane froze—and held her breath.

Pitch black—silent and massive in its presence, yet sleek.

Jane's jaw locked shut.

Part of the shadow rose from the ferns.

A long, narrow canine face. Sharp, alert ears.

Incandescent green eyes—an unearthly gaze that pinned her to the tree.

A wolf.

"Oh, no…" Jane mouthed, clenching her fists close to her stomach.

She had nothing—no knife, no gun, not even a pointed stick. Maybe if she just stayed still…

He drew in deep, rough breaths, like a great bellows. Testing the air. Staring at her.

Jane's face twisted. She covered her mouth with her hands.

He stepped toward her.

Jane's eyes flinched shut—

Thundering hooves shattered the twilight.

The wolf spun to look, then raced off into the trees—the plants rippled in his wake. He disappeared.

Jane leaped to her feet, heart pounding.

The next instant, a huge chestnut elk, its antlers raking through the branches of the smaller trees, its tongue lolling, its eyes wide, barreled over the ridge and straight toward her.

Jane yelped.

The elk screeched and scrambled to avoid her—

A _flash_—

A blade darted through the air and struck the elk through the chest.

Blood flew.

The animal slammed to its knees—

Crashed onto its side, and started thrashing, lashing its head back and forth and kicking wildly, tearing at the underbrush.

Horror thrilled through Jane's blood. But before she could even clear her thoughts enough to get _away_—

A tall, night-clad young man leaped out from the woods to her left.

Loki.

He saw it all in a moment.

Distress flashed across his eyes.

In two swift steps, he landed hard behind the elk and fell to his knees, his coat trailing out behind him.

"Shush, shush," he said urgently, pinning the elk to the ground with both hands. His powerful fingers locked on its shoulder and one antler, immobilizing them. The animal kept kicking, blood foaming in its mouth. Loki leaned over, and met its frenzied gaze.

Then, with a single deadly movement, faster than Jane could track, he grabbed the elk by its head and snapped its neck.

The crack resounded.

Jane's shoulder collided with the tree.

The animal stilled.

Quiet descended.

Dimly, Jane became aware that she stood half leaning against a trunk, her hand over her mouth. She couldn't move.

Loki lowered his head. And his wicked grip on the elk's head gentled. He relaxed his left hand, resting it on one of the mighty antlers, then ran his right palm slowly down the muscled neck. The tension left his shoulders.

He lifted his face to Jane.

And the black resentment in his eyes shot right through her.

He turned and gazed back down at the elk, stroking its thick fur. Briefly, his eyebrows drew together as his intensity faded. He moved one hand, and lightly touched the elk behind the ear.

"Eg er lei for det_,_" he said, very softly.

Jane's hand drifted down from her lips.

She knew those words. She'd heard them sometime when she'd been here before. He pronounced them a little differently—but they were Norwegian.

And they meant, "_I'm sorry."_

_ I'm sorry._

Loki looked up at her again.

Jane swallowed, shifting her weight.

A touch of weariness crossed his face, and he glanced away. He sighed, and got to his feet, wincing as he did. Then, he held out his hands, palms down, over the elk.

He clapped.

Light flashed.

And the elk vanished.

Jane's mouth fell open.

Loki's right eye flinched shut, then he forced both eyes open and glanced upward.

"We will make camp nearby," he declared. "I am tired."

And he turned, and strode through the brush the way he had come, more loudly this time, a slight limp in his right leg.

Jane had to stand there for several moments, catching her balance, before she could follow him over the uneven hill and through the gathering dark.

LLLLL

Loki stopped in another little hollow, its floor covered with green underbrush, its edges bordered by two enormous fallen trees. It was almost dark, and Jane could feel frost needling at her cheeks and nose.

Loki cleared his throat, snapped his fingers—

And in a twinkling, a silver saucepan appeared in his hands. He gripped it by the edge and held it out to her.

"Go fill this with water."

She stared at it.

"I…don't…" she stammered, sure that if she tried to touch it, her hand would go right through it.

"Do it, before it gets so dark that you lose your way," he ordered, shoving it toward her. Reflexively, she grabbed it.

It felt cold, solid and heavy.

Definitely real.

Loki didn't look at her. Instead, he pulled out his elegant knife again and stabbed it into a nearby pine. The wood creaked beneath the blade.

"I…I don't know where any water is," Jane confessed.

"Listen," Loki said, prying off a cracking hunk of brown bark.

"But I can't—"

"Stop _talking _a moment and _listen_," he snapped. He halted his work, his mouth hardening as he waited.

Jane took a breath and turned, trying to do as he said.

And in a second, she heard it.

The unmistakable whisper of a stream.

"You hear it now," Loki muttered, starting to cut again. "Go."

Jane frowned at him, but didn't say anything. Adjusting her grip on the pan, she set off in what she hoped was the right direction.

LLLLL

The water sloshed over the edge of the pan and hit her fingers. She hissed through her teeth and slowed down, trying to keep the full bowl steady. She had filled the pan as full as she could with the clear, ice-cold water bubbling through a narrow stream not far away. She could see Loki ahead of her again, but just barely. She almost couldn't distinguish between his lean form and the shadows of the trees. She frowned in his general direction as she rustled through the ferns.

"Aren't you going to start a fire?"

"For what purpose?" he asked, easing down beside one of the fallen trees. He grunted as he sat, then let out a tight sigh as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"To cook the meat," Jane clarified.

He sighed again, shifting.

"I have no desire to field-dress that beast in the dark," he answered, his mostly-hidden gaze flicking up to her. "Furthermore, the scent of cooking meat would bring every wolf within three leagues of here." His voice lowered, and she could feel the whisper of a sneer. "You wouldn't want to get picked off in the night like a lame sheep, would you _Fjellfiollet?"_

"I—"

"Come, give me the water," he cut her off, holding out his hand. She stepped closer, bent and handed it to him. Unceremoniously, he took it, leaned forward and dumped out half of it. It splashed loudly. Jane gasped.

"What are you—"

He set it down next to him, where a pile of white pine also rested. Quickly, he tossed all of the pieces of wood into the pan, then lifted the silver in both hands…

And the water began to boil.

Jane gaped, unable to see very well—but she could hear the simmering surface, and feel the heat that suddenly radiated out from it.

For a few minutes, both of them sat very still, listening to the water as it hissed and spat. Then, Loki let go of the pan with one hand and waved it over the water.

It calmed, grew quiet. He set the pan down beside him again.

"Go on," he said.

"With what?" Jane wondered, trying to see his expression—but she couldn't.

He reached into the water. It splished as he pulled out a piece of pine.

Jane slid her hand toward the pan, grimacing, sure she was about to burn herself…

Her fingers entered the water.

It was as warm as a bath.

"_Oh—_" she twitched back—then made herself put her hand in the water again and fish out a piece of wood.

She put it in her mouth. Water dripped down her chin.

Relief rushed through her. It was _much _easier to chew now, and even tasted better.

Loki dipped his hand in and pulled out another piece, shook off the excess water and took a bite. Jane did the same thing.

Wordlessly, they finished all of the pine together, chewing and swallowing quietly.

When there was no food left, Loki brought the pan to his lips and drank. She could hear his throat work as he swallowed. Then he pulled it away, took a breath and handed it to her.

She hesitated again, but he had faced the forest. She lifted the pan with both hands and sipped from it. The water tasted just as good as the pine had—she drank it all, and set it back down.

He glanced over, then held up a hand and snapped his fingers.

_Flash_.

The saucepan disappeared.

Jane's heart flipped.

"Where—How did you do that? Where did it go?"

"Away," he answered. "Go to sleep, _Fiolett. _We journey back at dawn."

Jane sat where she was, glancing uneasily out at the forest—the forest which was completely dark.

"Can't we build a fire now?" Jane ventured. Loki leaned against the tree, resting his head back against it.

"Do as you wish."

Jane squeezed her hands.

"I can't."

"Then goodnight," he muttered. Jane opened her mouth—then stopped.

Something flapped its wings high in the branches above. But it made no other noise.

Jane bit her lip, then turned and felt her way across the dirt. Her hands met some softer undergrowth—better than the rough sticks nearer the tree—and she curled up in the middle of it, pulling her knees up to her chest and tugging her furry hood on. She gritted her teeth, and squeezed her eyes shut.

The quiet of the forest surrounded her.

And the frost crept over her like a shroud.

LLLLL

Jane stared at the shaft of a plant right in front of her face—she focused on it, and only it, as hard as she could. She locked her jaw in place. Otherwise, she knew she would bite herself from shivering so violently.

She held her arms so tight around herself she couldn't breathe, and her nose almost touched her knees. Frost dusted her jeans, her forehead, her eyelashes, her lips.

Little splinters of white moonlight cut down through the pine needles and into the hollow—just enough for her to make out a hint of his shape across the way if she strained her neck.

Her chin spasmed downward, then did it again.

Her breathing caught.

Panic grabbed her throat.

"Can't…Can't…" she tried—and her teeth started rattling.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her heart battered against her breastbone.

She sat up.

Every muscle screamed.

She groaned sharply, face twisting as the bushes slapped around her. She pulled her aching legs around and underneath, and staggered to her feet. Her hood fell back.

She started forward. She only caught glimpses of where she was going—but she only had to take four steps before she stumbled to her knees, reached out with numb hands and blundered into Loki.

She instantly leaned down, buried her face into the side of his chest, wrapped both arms all the way around his middle and pressed the rest of her body as close to his side as humanly possible.

His whole frame jerked.

"What _are _you doing?" he demanded hoarsely, pulling away from her.

She snatched at his tunic, binding it in a death grip with her fingers, screwing her eyes shut, shaking so badly she couldn't answer. His warmth beneath her palms, against her face, almost burned her—she nuzzled desperately closer. The scent of leather swam through her senses.

"Get off me," he ordered. "_Now_." His palm landed on the top of her head.

"I'm…I'm c-cold," she choked, pulling him even closer. "Please. I'm…I'm…"

He stayed rigid against her, coiled like a spring.

Jane gulped, then managed to summon up one rasping sentence.

"What about…a dead hostage?"

The pressure from his hand eased.

He shifted—she sensed him turn his head toward her.

His fingers moved. His thumb slid across her brow. His voice quieted.

"There is ice in your hair."

Jane gulped again, clawing at his coat.

He sighed. His frame loosened.

"Come now, you won't get anywhere by merely leeching from me," he muttered.

His right arm came down, and wrapped firmly around her back. And his left hand pressed down on the crown of her head.

Heat flooded through her, from the center of her forehead to her knees to her heels.

She drew in a quick, stunned breath—and her whole body relaxed.

Her eyelids flickered, and she let out a long sigh of her own.

"Now, you may let go of me," Loki said—his deep voice vibrated against her head. Jane shifted—suddenly sleepy—moving so her head laid higher on his chest, and sliding her hand up against his heart. Her fingers tingled, and she spread them out. They felt warmer there, for some reason…

And before she had time to finish even half a thought—she fell asleep.

LLLLL

Loki stared down at the top of her head. He lifted his hand off her hair, then held it poised as he frowned. She breathed evenly and deeply—he could feel every rise and fall press against his side and his arm.

She was asleep.

And her hand was resting right in the center of his chest.

Loki became very still, breathing shallowly.

He could feel it now, beneath his arm—in the bend of _her _arm across him.

How delicate she was. How thin. Weary—frayed, like an overused rope.

Half frozen.

His lower lip twitched.

She could have died.

He would have awoken in the morning and told her to get up—only to be answered by silence. He would have bent down in the ferns and nudged her; moved back her hood, only to find…

Loki slowly lowered his left hand down to rest on his belt. Then, he turned his gaze up to the filtered moonlight, his fingers curling around a seam in her coat.

_To be continued…_

_ Review! (You know how I love hearing your thoughts:)_


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter is dedicated to Katla, who saved the story and my sanity in the wee hours of the morning._

_Thank you, my friend._

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER SIX

"_It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds,_

_Not the deafening blasts of doom."_

_-William Dean Howells_

Jane opened her eyes.

Nothing had startled her—everything was quiet, and dark.

But the one lying next to her had stiffened.

She felt his tension ripple through her body, starting with the left side of her face, which rested on his heart, and traveling down her back. His thumb and forefinger moved against the back of her coat.

She shifted her head, her neck stiff, and frowned upward…

Silver moonlight bathed his marble-like face, his eyes gray and stunning. He didn't blink as he gazed intently straight out in front of them.

Jane frowned, started to turn her head—

"Don't. Move," Loki warned, his delicate lips issuing vapor.

And then she saw it.

Inches away from Loki's boots stood a great black wolf.

Moonshine spilled down across its massive shoulders, mane-like neck and sharp, rugged ears and nose. She could only see one of its eyes, which looked gray now, too—fixed on Loki.

Jane gasped. It was the wolf she'd seen earlier—the wolf who had come toward her in the clearing—

Jane took a fistful of Loki's shirt as her heart slammed against her ribs—

The wolf's attention latched onto her. His lips drew back from his glistening teeth, and he let out a low, rumbling, deep-chested snarl that shivered the air.

Loki held up a pale left hand.

"Now listen to me," he said to the wolf, his voice even and soft. The wolf gnashed its teeth, licked its lips and closed its mouth, but kept staring at Jane. Jane stared back, paralyzed.

"Listen," Loki said again. "I know we're not supposed to be here. We've trespassed and stolen. I understand that."

The wolf's jaws snapped at him. Jane flinched. Loki's head twitched back. Then he raised his eyebrows.

"It shan't happen again. We will be on our way by morning. We won't disturb you or your pack any further."

_Pack? _Jane thought fleetingly. _There's more of them out there…?_

The wolf yipped—which made Jane jerk—and he locked his attention on her again.

"Ah, but you see…" Loki said—and lowered his hand, resting it on top of Jane's hand. His touch was gentle, but cold. He shook his head. "This is not for trade."

What—_What _was he doing? Was he _talking _to the wolf? And was the wolf talking _back—?_

The wolf snorted. Jane's eyes went wide.

"No. Under no circumstances," Loki answered sharply. "Name another price."

The wolf growled again, his breath a cloud of steam, and stepped forward.

Loki sat up, eyes blazing. Jane grabbed him.

The wolf stopped.

"I already said no," Loki snarled at the wolf. "Do not force me to defend what is mine."

The wolf stayed where he was. He flicked one ear.

"A quarter," Loki said tightly.

The wolf's jaws snapped again, and he keened.

"Half, then," Loki amended.

The wolf stood still. Then, his tail came up, and wagged.

Loki grinned. It was a quick, satisfied—and guarded—flash in the night. It startled Jane.

"I knew we could both be reasonable men," Loki said, his tone warmer as he slowly leaned back again. "No guest could ask for more from his host."

The wolf snorted again, almost scornful. Then, he took three steps back, turned, and vanished into the woods.

Loki stayed completely motionless for a long minute. Finally, Jane felt him relax—or weaken—beneath her.

"I know that you are desperately afraid of frostbite," he muttered flatly, lifting his right shoulder in discomfort. "But would you do me the favor of loosening your grip?"

"I'm sorry!" Jane rasped—recognizing in a burst of belated insight that she had crushed herself hardest against the part of him that probably still hurt the most. She released her arms and pulled back, just enough for him to adjust against the log, then clear his throat.

And all at once, Jane realized _where_ she was.

"Um…" Jane croaked. She twisted, getting her left hand under her and pushing off the icy ground, sitting up. He glanced over, and raised an indolent eyebrow.

"You're warm enough now?"

"I'm…" Jane began, folding her arms around herself. He waited, watching her. She glanced at the place where the animal had disappeared. "Are you…" she started again. "Are you going to feed me to that wolf?"

He frowned at her.

"What?"

"You said something about a quarter, then half," Jane reminded him.

"Did you not hear the rest of the conversation?" Loki asked, his gaze hard.

"_Conversation?_" Jane cried.

Loki's expression became more incredulous.

"Do you not recall my saying 'under no circumstances'? 'Name another price'?"

"I had no ideawhat was going on," Jane protested.

"We culled from his land—he wanted tribute," Loki stated. "Instead of you, I offered him part of my kill. I will deliver it to him when we leave."

"Oh," Jane blinked, baffled. "Um…"

"Yes, you're welcome," Loki said, glancing away and readjusting again. "It will be dawn in a couple of hours. Go back to sleep."

He laid his head and shoulders back and closed his eyes. An owl hooted in the treetops. Jane looked up, but no trace of light shone through besides the feeble moon. She bit her lip and fought back a shiver.

Loki growled in his throat. Jane turned to him—his eyes stayed closed, but his jaw went tight and he let out a short sigh.

"Lie back down."

Jane's gut tightened.

"I'm fine."

"I told you to lie down," Loki commanded, unmoving. "You clearly cannot keep yourself warm, and you are no good to me frozen."

Jane stared at him, unbalanced.

His order hung in the air.

She bit her lip.

Finally, she got her stiff legs under her, stood up and shuffled around him through the brush. She saw his brow furrow—but he didn't open his eyes. She drew up next to his left side and eased down onto her knees.

His frown deepened. Very carefully, squeezing one eye shut as she did, she lay down on her side next to him. She bumped him with her shoulder.

His left arm twitched up away from her.

She froze—then sat up quickly.

"I'm sorry. Did…Didn't you mean—" she started.

He braced his body—his eyes stayed closed.

"Yes, I did. Lie down."

Jane's stomach suddenly twisted itself into a painful knot. She screwed her eyes shut, held her breath, and slipped down, hesitantly resting her head on his shoulder. He didn't wrap his arm around her back. She kept her own arms tucked tight against her chest.

"Why did you move?"

His question, though quiet, jolted her skull.

"I didn't want to…Your…" she stammered, then took fistfuls of her own coat collar. "I was losing circulation in my left arm."

He didn't answer.

But then, he took a deep breath.

And his hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder.

"Stop shivering," he muttered. "You will keep me awake."

"Sorry," she whispered. He sighed again—a weary sound—and didn't say any more. Jane let her eyes drift shut and kept very still, hoping the sound of his breathing would lull her back to sleep.

LLLLL

Warmth, and solidity, wrapped around her whole body. Softness lay beneath her face. The air smelled like hyacinths…

And a deep, gentle voice hummed.

It was that same mysterious, haunting tune—but far away. She listened, each note sinking down through her, to her bones, her heart.

The voice faded. The warmth seeped away. The solidity sank down into the ground.

Jane opened her eyes.

Gray daylight filtered down through the branches.

She was alone, curled up in a ball, on her right side.

She sat up. Leaves and twigs stuck to her coat. She groaned, and rubbed her face, pushing her hair and hood back. Her head pounded. She squinted around.

Birds were starting to chirp, far off. Otherwise, everything was still very quiet.

She swallowed. She was thirsty. And starving, again.

Something moved.

She looked downhill.

Loki's dark form strode up toward her, coat rustling—he met her eyes briefly, then stepped past her.

"I just delivered a portion of the elk to the wolf captain," he said. "The rest will keep. Come on."

Jane struggled to her feet—and groaned. She could feel every bone and every single joint in her body. And muscles ached in her neck that she didn't know she had. But Loki was walking briskly, away from her. So she ground her teeth and followed him.

He led her up a steep hill that she didn't remember—several times she had to use her hands to grab hold of tree trunks or boulders, trying to avoid the brambles and thorns. Sticks snapped underneath her feet. High breezes rattled the pine needles. Finally, the two of them attained the higher ground, and Jane could turn to her left and see out over the top of a portion of the forest—and beyond that, she glimpsed the distant, hoary mountains again. Mists still hung in the lower regions, like the spread fingers of a giant hand.

A gust of fresh wind greeted her. She took a deep breath of it as it blustered her hair. It smelled like pine—which made her mouth water.

"Come," Loki called from ahead of her, starting up the rocky track. She gathered herself and went after.

They climbed upward for a good distance—the ground turned uneven and rocky. Her boots sometimes slipped on the weathered stones. Birds in the shaded woods to her right grew louder, twittering and fluttering just out of sight.

The sun didn't come out—clouds still hung low over the sky. But it somehow didn't seem as dim as yesterday.

She approached a high corner, taking deeper breaths—realizing for the first time that it was hard for her to breathe because of the _altitude_…

And all at once, she couldn't see Loki.

She stopped. Her eyebrows came together.

She searched the trail ahead of her, but all she could see was the wide, curving edge of a cliff, sky, and woods to one side. The wind moaned down below, then rushed over her head and into the tangled tresses of the forest. A sparrow chirped in a rosebush. Everything fell quiet.

Jane almost called out, then stopped. She waited, her gaze flicking back and forth into the trees. She opened her mouth again—

Loki came rustling back into view, knee deep in underbrush. And he carried six fat brown tubers by their green upper leaves. Dirt fell from them as he walked. He paused on the trail, glanced at her, then kicked his head to one side, indicating that she ought to keep coming.

"What are those?" Jane asked as she started forward. "Potatoes?"

"I have no idea what you call them here," Loki answered. "They are food. If you cook them properly."

Jane left it at that.

They kept walking, she on his heels, for at least two more rugged miles.

Finally, they crossed down, out of the thick woods and onto the grassy moors—and she abruptly recognized where they were. They were heading up the trail through the wide valley toward the house—the way they had come in the first place

Loki paused, turned and gazed back the way they had come. Jane did the same, wondering. The wind rushed through the grass and their clothes, carrying the scent of rain. She scanned the landscape, trying to find what he was looking at…

And saw them.

Wolves.

A dozen of them—probably more—lined the edge of the forest not two hundred meters away. Gray and black, lean forms, standing silently. Watching them.

A chill ran down Jane's spine.

"The old tales always make wolves out to be bloodthirsty killers," Loki murmured, staring back at the row of predators. "Yet anyone familiar with their kind will tell you that they can be as amiable as household dogs, and twice as clever." His voice darkened, as did his brow. Strands of his black hair fluttered across his face. "But most do not take the time to become familiar. It is easier to remain ignorant, and keep the wolf as an enemy." His eyebrow flicked. "And so the wolf can be that, too."

Jane watched him for a long moment, then looked back at the animals. They didn't move.

Loki's coat swished. Jane turned to see him face the upper valley again and resume walking. Jane bit down, her neck prickling at the thought of turning her back on those wolves—and kept after him. Much closer this time.

LLLLL

Jane puffed and rubbed her arms as she stepped through the front door of the house. She had to stop for a second to let her eyes adjust, then started forward—

And tripped over the stair.

"For the _love _of—" she barked, catching herself and cursing under her breath. She pushed her ragged hair out of her face again and glanced back through the open door. Loki was watching her, an indifferent eyebrow raised, then he bent down and pulled his gleaming knife out of his boot.

"Start these boiling," he said, straightening up and holding the tubers out to her. She reached out and took them—they were heavy, and the green leaves felt rough and prickly.

"What are _you_ going to do?" Jane asked.

Loki looked at her sharply. She closed her mouth. He hefted his knife, turned and hopped off the low porch, then rounded the house and disappeared. The door creaked, slowly swinging toward her. Jane sighed, grabbed the cold handle and pulled it closed, then turned and went into the kitchen.

She felt like grit, and she still ached all over—she _longed _for a bath. But she was too hungry to do anything about that now. Her stomach gaped.

Leaving her coat on, she pumped a sinkful of water and rubbed and rinsed the earth off the firm, squeaky skin of the tubers, trying not to wince—the water was _freezing. _Then, she dried her hands, opened a drawer right next to her and pulled out a cutting board and a knife and set them on the counter. She paused and took a few measured breaths—she felt weak and shaky, and this was _not _a good time or place to slice her hand open. Methodically, she cut the tubers up into manageable pieces, the knife thudding on the board. She put the tubers in a pot, filled the pot up with water, set it on a burner with a firm clank, and turned on the gas.

Nothing happened.

"Crap," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Turn on the generator, Jane…"

Heaving a sigh, she walked out of the kitchen, stepped down, opened the front door and went back outside.

Wind blasted her. She flinched, ducking her head. She shuffled around the house toward the generator shed…

And drew to a halt.

Loki occupied the yard space between her and the shed. Loki, and the bottom half of the elk.

Jane twitched her gaze away—but not before she had seen the elk's midsection and back legs sprawled there in the blood-soaked grass as Loki, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, knelt over the carcass, carving roughly through the thick belly hide so the innards could spill out.

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, covered her mouth and nose with one hand, and hurried around them, not looking, not looking…

She gasped in a breath and opened her eyes as she fumbled into the rough door of the shed. She tumbled inside, found the generator switch and flipped it. The machine rumbled to life. She braced herself, then darted back outside, fully intending to ignore the skinning…

But, like watching a car wreck, she found it impossible to look away.

Loki, pale hands and arms covered with blood—startling, bright red blood—lifted his head and looked right back at her as she passed by.

She slowed.

The dark look in his piercing green eyes was back.

She hesitated, then kept walking, and went into the house. And as she successfully turned on the hiss of gas this time, she vowed not to look out the window at the elk, or at him.

LLLLL

Loki bit the inside of his cheek as the sickly-sweet stench of blood filled his nose, mouth and throat. He gripped the edge of the torn hide with his left hand and cut a large gash down the center of the belly with his right—which was awkward. He was not as coordinated with his right hand. He should have rolled the elk over onto its other side…

He paused, adjusting his grip on the slick handle of his knife, and glanced across his work. _Half _the elk. Bleeding its gray guts and scarlet blood out all over the grass, its fur, his boots, his arms…

He closed his eyes for a moment, his stomach turning over. The wind bothered the edges of his hair and coat. Loki had learned this technique long ago—learned it from his father, and practiced until the palace huntsman himself had openly declared that Loki was one of the best hunters, skinners and tanners he had ever known.

And then Loki had refused to do it ever again.

Loki forced his eyes open, took a deep breath, set his knife against the edge of the gash and kept slicing.

Foul little mortal. Complaining about being hungry, being cold, being uncomfortable—

His right arm jerked back, pulling the knife loose, as a spasm of pain shot through his ribs. He gritted his teeth and winced, then sat back on his heels to catch his breath.

The spasm passed. He stared at the ground. His mouth tightened.

He flexed his fingers. The blood was turning sticky on his skin—and icy. He leaned forward again, plunged the knife in, and kept cutting until he was finished.

LLLLL

Jane was crouched on the hard floor, digging clinking containers of old herbs and spices out of a low cabinet, when she heard the door open and bang shut. She jerked back, her head coming up—

Loki's tall figure swept into the kitchen, carrying a metal plate loaded with raw, sliced meat in both bloody hands. Blood also still coated his forearms up to his elbows. He set the metal plate on the counter—he must have gotten it from the shed—and worked the squeaky pump with his left hand. He stuck his right arm under the water and turned it back and forth, trying to rinse it, but that didn't work. He took his other hand off the pump and scrubbed at the blood, but the water flow stopped. He pumped again, and repeated the exercise.

"Here," Jane said, stepped forward and worked the pump herself. Water gushed out easily.

Loki paused, not looking at her.

Then, he put both arms under the spill and scrubbed, then lathered up with the bar of soap sitting there and rinsed that off as well. The lather turned scarlet, as did the whole sink basin. Jane kept pumping, until his hands and arms were clean and everything had rinsed down the drain. She stopped and stepped back. Loki reached a dripping hand across the counter for a blue towel.

"I'm sorry," Jane said.

He stopped.

Jane took a deep breath, ducked her head and took a rag to wipe the blood off the pump handle.

"I'm sorry I made a noise and scared the elk," she went on. "I think you were trying to kill it instantly, weren't you? But since it moved…" She risked a look up at his broad back. He stayed still.

Then, his shoulders eased, minutely.

He grabbed the towel, and dried his arms.

"Do not burn the meat," he said, tossing the towel onto the counter. He left the kitchen, crisply rolling down his sleeves.

Jane watched him leave, her eyebrows coming together in the silence in his wake. Then, she moved to the stove, took up a fork and poked the tubers in the bubbling pot, ignoring the towel he had tossed down.

LLLLL

Jane wrapped her coat around herself and closed her eyes, standing in one place, listening to the quiet of the house.

It had taken most of the rest of the day to prepare the meat—it was late afternoon by the time they could actually eat anything. She and Loki had sat at opposite ends of the little table and devoured all the meat he had supplied and that she had cooked—_and_ three of the mountain potatoes—in complete silence. The only sound had been the clinking of their utensils. The elk had been a little gamey, but Jane hadn't cared even a little bit about that. The food had been heavy and rich and tasty, and filled her up with strength—and the cold water she drank from a plastic glass had quenched her days-long thirst. She felt Loki lifting his head and studying her occasionally—she felt his gaze pierce through her. She never met it.

After she had cleaned her plate, she had stood up, left the dishes where they were and headed straight off to the bathroom. There, she washed up completely—took a warm shower, scrubbed her hair, brushed her teeth, everything.

Now she stood in her room, her hair braided, wearing her mom's soft pajamas and socks, enveloped in her coat, a deep weariness pulling at her.

Jane made herself open her eyes. She had to do the dishes. _Then _she could go to bed.

She pushed open the door of her room and headed out, behind the couch, toward the kitchen. Loki stood in front of the lifeless fireplace, one hand braced on the mantel, his head low. She looked him up and down, then went into the kitchen, dug out three short candles and lit them. Their little golden glow filled enough of the kitchen for her to see what she was doing. So she gathered the clattering plates, forks, knives, glasses, pots and pans, pumped a sink-full of hot water and started to wash up.

The night wind moaned against the outside walls, making the foundations softly groan, and the panes of the windows rattle. As Jane scrubbed the grease from the pan she had used to cook the meat, she took a breath and started humming to herself. She kept doing it as she worked, trying to stay awake.

She finished and set aside the pan, the pot, the jingling forks and knives, the glasses, and had started on the plates when she felt a presence.

She stopped humming.

She turned her head and glanced over her shoulder.

Loki stood in the doorway, half illuminated. The quiet candlelight gleamed against his vivid eyes, and much of the rest of him melted into shadow. His shoulder touched the doorframe. Jane's hands went still.

"Where did you learn that song?" he asked. His voice was low, careful. Penetrating.

Jane swallowed, then frowned.

"Um…" She shook her head. "I don't know," she confessed, meeting his intense eyes. "I don't remember. I've just had it stuck in my head all day."

He studied her for a moment—then turned away.

"Do you know it?" she asked, facing him.

He looked back at her, his eyebrows raising for an instant. Then, he nodded.

"What is it?" she wondered.

He glanced at the stove.

"It is a very old song—about a man, singing to the northern wind. Asking it to bring his lady to him." He frowned distantly. "Naturally, the wind pays little attention."

"So…" Jane ventured. "It's a sad song."

He looked at the ground.

"The bard doesn't say," he answered. "Perhaps."

Jane gently set the plate down, and dried off her hands.

"It's pretty, though."

Loki's eyes lifted, and met hers.

And he held her gaze for just a moment longer.

He nodded once.

Then he turned, and stepped back into the dark sitting room.

LLLLL

Loki stared, his eyes unfocused, at the dusty, empty fireplace. The candles in the kitchen had long been snuffed—she had gone to bed hours ago.

The north wind howled, protesting mournfully as it billowed through the valley, buffeting the walls. The clouds hid the stars and moon from sight.

Loki braced one hand on the cold mantel, lowering his head.

Haunting notes wandered through his mind. Dim, ancient memories of a golden banquet hall at night, filled with twinkling lights. The clatter of plates—the strum of a minstrel's lute…

"Blow, northerne wynd," he whispered. "Send to me my suetyng…"

His throat closed. He lifted his right arm and pressed his fingertips to the center of his chest for a moment.

His mouth hardened.

He took a deep breath, and the golden memories faded.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	7. Chapter 7

_My gratitude is beyond expression. My only hope is that I can continue to fulfill _your_ hopes._

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER SEVEN

"_There are many who would rather meet their bitterest enemy in the field,_

_Than their own hearts in their closet."_

_~Charles Caleb Colton, __Lacon__, 1825_

Loki could not remember the last time he had slept. Weeks. Months, perhaps. Sometimes in recent past he had sat in one corner or other and stared at nothing. Other times, he had merely feigned sleep. But never had he lost himself altogether and rested—truly rested. And this night was no exception.

He stood with folded arms in front of that same crooked window, staring blankly out of it, as the inky darkness faded back to be replaced by dismal gray. His hands stayed locked in fists, and he held the inside of his lip between his teeth.

A breath of wind stirred the grass out there. He blinked slowly.

The sky gradually lightened. Day dawned—as much as it would up here in these savage hills.

He blinked again—quicker. His brow furrowed.

He straightened.

It was the seventh day.

Ghosts of voices, sing-song children's voices, trickled through his memory.

_First day, to come to thee_

_I'll track thy feet in snow._

_If that doth fail, on the second day_

_I'll follow the scent I know._

_On the third day I'll cross the streams_

_And rivers where thou wouldst go._

_The fourth shall bring me to the trees_

_And to thy own dear meadow._

_The fifth I'll seek thy weapons—_

_An arrow from thy bow._

_The sixth I fear I'll find thy blood—_

_So steps assured, to the gates of Hel,_

_I'll come to thee by magic spell. _

Seven days.

Loki spun to face the front door, suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation that someone was about to stride through it.

The shadowed door stayed motionless. The quiet wind moaned against the thatch.

Loki swallowed, his heart beating faster. He dropped his arms and silently crossed the room to the window by the table. He slipped around the chair and drew back the curtain with two fingers.

Nothing. Just dim, empty moorland.

His heart did not calm.

"Just an old song," he muttered, shutting the curtain and glancing back through the room.

Yes, another old song—a song he knew backward and forward. Every child of Asgard did. It was a song of urgency—it told how long someone could stay missing before his loved ones feared the worst, and what measures his family and protectors would take to regain him.

He paused, gazing unfocused at the dusty floor, listening. Then, with slow steps, he returned to his customary north-facing window.

The morning light opened up a bit more. Rustlings issued from her bedroom—she was waking. Loki let out an abbreviated sigh, turned and entered the tiny kitchen, and with a flash, unconjured some more of the raw elk meat—not much—and a long, thick bone, and put them on that metal plate. Then, he returned to his perch.

Her door squeaked open. She came out. Loki did not turn.

He could feel her study him—felt her eyes run across him. Careful. Thoughtful. He lifted an eyebrow. She stayed as she was for a moment, still studying him, then stepped quietly into the washing room and shut the door.

At first, Loki absently listened as the water hissed inside that room. Then he ignored it. His heartbeat felt irregular; enough that he could not steady his breathing. The clouds outside seemed to be trying to part, but the wind kept closing the distance between their jigsaw pieces.

She emerged behind him—he stayed still. Again she paused, then crossed the room to the kitchen. He heard her clatter with the dishes and pump the gurgling water as she began to cook…

And he forgot about her.

Because his right hand started trembling.

Nerves tingled painfully all down his side, making his hand spasm shut. He clenched his jaw, folded his arms, turned—and, head down, slowly began to pace.

Seven days. Seven days, and they still had not come. Not with their assassins' wiles, not with their science or strategy, not with their one-eyed, viper-like cunning—and not with any magic.

That was good. They would not catch him, then. They wouldn't bind him in some prison and subject him to whatever tortures these Midgardians could conjure, without a trial, without letting him speak his piece…

He swallowed again, fighting bile back.

He wasn't afraid of their tortures or their insults. He could withstand them, whatever they were.

It was something else. Something he refused to think about. Something else that had made him flee—made him abandon his assumptions, take _her_ by the hair and stare down the shaft of that arrow.

Dark images flashed in front of him. Imaginings of a cage. Of cold fingers of darkness crawling through the crevices of that cage, toward him. Of those fingers snaking around his ankles, his knees, his wrists, his throat…

He shook himself, pacing faster. He moved to the far wall, reached out with an absent right hand and touched its rough surface, trying to breathe, before turning back and stepping toward the mantel again.

Why hadn't _he_ found him?

Loki observed that he had been easy enough to track earlier, apparently, even whilst he had been aboard that missile-like aircraft, held captive by the Soldier and the Iron Man. And _he_ had asked no questions—just leaped aboard and broken Loki loose. And_ he_ had come from another _realm_.

Loki hesitated by the mantel, staring at the snuffed white candle.

Had something happened? Had the Chatauri launched another attack, one that the colorful little band couldn't repel this time?

Loki stood on that thought for a moment, letting it revolve through his mind, watching the sight and sound of its images spin through his consciousness.

He minutely shook his head.

No, the Chitauri needed the tesseract to launch another full-scale attack.

And they no longer had it.

Loki's empty stomach turned over twice. He pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and faced the couch, then dropped his hand and paced toward the far wall again.

No, it must be something else that still kept himfrom coming—some other delay, pressing business, conflict…

Loki's steps slowed. He stared at the small picture of a country landscape on the wall. He went cold.

Or…

He wasn't even looking.

Because the only thing he had ever been chasing was the tesseract.

Loki spun and swept back toward the table, his feet loud on the floorboards, his eyes seeing nothing as he bit the inside of his cheek.

So all those words on the mountaintop—all that wretched pleading and threatening—had just been an empty ploy to obtain the tesseract?

Loki's hand paused on the back of the wooden chair as he stilled.

That thought sank down inside him like an icy stone, then galled him with its very existence. His nose and brow snarled to a frown—but his hand still quivered. He grasped the back of the chair harder, and roundly cursed himself.

_Why_ had he suddenly allowed himself to fall back into this habit of useless hoping? He had been through with that—_beyond _that—a long time ago. During nights as black as pitch and endless days without the sun, when he had slowly come to the realization that something as flame-hot as _hope _could drive a person _mad_…

Wait.

Loki's frown eased, focused—and his thoughts cautiously started down another path.

If it were true…

_If _the pleading and bargaining and threatening had merely been for the sake of the tesseract…

Could it be that Thor did not actually want Jane?

Loki stood still for a long moment.

Then, he looked at her.

She stood off to his left, in the kitchen in front of the stove. A skillet sat atop the stove, and it sizzled and hissed. She wore dark blue trousers; a thick, high-necked, form-fitting violet shirt, and her doe-colored hair hung down in gentle curls. Graceful hands stirred the rest of the chopped mountain vegetables and dried herbs on the skillet as black-lashed, bright brown eyes watched their progress. Her soft features stayed quiet, attentive, her expressive eyebrows drawn together in calm concentration. She held her pleasing figure upright with a hint of weariness, but her shoulders didn't slump—and she uttered a few notes of humming as she reached forward to adjust the temperature of the burner.

Loki's gaze faltered, and he turned away.

No, that could not be Thor's reason.

His mouth hardened.

Perhaps…

Perhaps there was yet another reason. Perhaps all of that little band were merely sitting around, waiting for Loki to return to make an offer—to demand a ransom.

But they would never keep their word if he did. Fury, Barton and Romanov were as backhanded as petty thieves and untrustworthy as three vipers. They would take Jane from him and bind him the next instant, calling him a fool for falling for their ruse.

However, they would only sit still for so long while Loki remained hidden. Eventually, they _would_ lose their patience and come after him. His only choice was to flee—

But any flashy magic such as that—any magic at all—would be a beacon straight through the sky.

A beacon for _THEM. _

The chair started to rattle beneath Loki's grip.

All at once, the walls felt too close, the air far too thick…

He couldn't breathe.

He let go of the chair, charged at the front door and flung it open. It bashed against the outside wall.

He marched straight out, out from under the overhang and onto the grass of the moor. The wind caught his hair and clothes and tore through them, thudding in his hearing. He opened his mouth and sucked in deep breaths, trying to keep his head from spinning. He stopped, and squeezed his eyes shut.

No. This had to stop. He had to think clearly.

It was possible Thor was just delayed—that he was merely baffled by the line of the escape spell.

It was possible that he _had_ meant what he said.

Loki clawed at the Mjollnir necklace at his throat and held it in a death grip.

He just had to wait—he had to wait a while longer…

The sun broke through the clouds.

Glorious golden light tumbled down through the valley, dazzling Loki's vision and covering his whole body with warmth. His head came up and he stared into the sky, stunned.

But then a low, seething voice slithered into his mind.

What if Thorhad meant it at _first_, but his mind had changed since the battle?

What if he had become a puppet of Fury's?

Loki's heart shuddered.

No—perhaps Loki could reason with him before _they_ came. Or threaten him…trick him…

The clouds closed over the sun.

A shadow fell across the entire land.

Ice cut the wind.

Loki's vision, shut off from the light, went dark. He swayed to one side.

His fingers slid from the necklace.

And his blood turned to stone.

LLLLL

Jane felt something unsettle the air as soon as she stepped out of her chilly bedroom first thing in the morning. She stopped, noticing Loki's long coat draped across the end of the couch. Then she caught sight of his ever-dark form standing by the window, as if he'd been there all night.

Jane frowned. _Had _he been there all night?

He had looked better the past couple days, regained a little health in his face—but right now, even his lips had lost all their color. And, for the first time, Jane noticed what looked like minor bruising underneath his right eye—the only one she could see.

There was also an unusual set to his stance. Unsteady. As if something had recently agitated him—like the surface of a pool that someone had tossed a pebble into a minute ago. The ripples still troubled the edges.

Jane made herself turn and go into the bathroom, shut the door, and take a shower.

After she had cleaned up, she dressed, wrapped up in her coat and stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair until it dried. As she methodically drew the brush through her long, damp locks, running her fingers through them simultaneously, she bit her lip and tilted her head, staring at her pale reflection.

Maybe he was planning something.

Maybe he felt trapped here, in this little house in the middle of nowhere. That wouldn't surprise her—they had been here almost a week. If they were running from the Avengers, then staying in one place would be a bad idea, no matter how remote it was.

Jane's brush slowed.

She saw the flash cross her eyes before the thought fully registered in her head.

He hadn't been very good at anticipating what she needed to stay alive. He still hadn't lit a fire, and how long would the meat last? Was he even _thinking _about her? At all? Or would he forget about her again, the way he'd done before when the canned food had run out?

A chill coursed through her.

She put her brush down by the sink and felt her head. She shook herself, raked her hands through her hair, then nodded firmly at her reflection.

It was dry enough. Time to get food.

She opened the door and went out, automatically looking over at Loki as she did. He still resembled a statue.

Jane frowned again.

But he was breathing strangely. His arms were folded, but he clenched his hands in white-knuckled fists.

Carefully, she passed behind him and the couch, heading for the kitchen, still listening to his tight, labored breaths. She rounded the corner…

And came face-to-face with a full tray of red meat, accompanied by a bone.

She halted.

Then, slowly, she turned back to him again. And a different feeling entered her chest.

She swallowed, then stepped forward into the kitchen to dig out the rest of the mountain potatoes and the skillet.

She turned on the stove, which heated the little space well enough, so she took off her coat and hung it on a peg on the far wall, then dusted off her hands. Now that Jane knew her way around this kitchen and didn't have to dig for things, she could cook much more quickly. She pumped water into a pot, put the bone in it, and set it on a burner to simmer for later. Then, she cut the mountain potatoes up, laid them out on the skillet, and had just pulled a spatula out of a drawer when she sensed him stir.

She straightened, shifted, and glanced cautiously out the kitchen door.

And put the spatula down.

She started forward, stopped, then edged closer to the doorframe, her hand absently sliding up to press against the lump of the necklace beneath her sweater.

He was pacing.

His eyes were completely unfocused, yet his pallid features bore the most intense concentration. Deep lines marked the skin between his eyebrows. He stalked slowly back and forth between the south wall and the mantel, like a panther in a narrow cage. His fingers opened and closed absently—one eyebrow arched, then relaxed as he turned to cross one more time.

Jane watched him, fixated, her grip closing around the necklace. She could almost feel the air crackling, agitating, as he swept back and forth. But some sort of deep, uncomfortable pain seemed to be twisting inside him …

He paused by the far wall, and reached listlessly out to touch it. He swung back around and came to the mantel to gaze intently at the lightless candle, without seeing it.

Abruptly, as if an invisible flame from that candle had burned him, his hand flinched toward his face—he backed away from it, pressed his fingers to his forehead and stormed toward the south wall.

Jane's heart started to beat hard inside her as she watched. She couldn't move.

He drew to a stop in front of a little painting. He stared at it.

And something changed. Jane didn't know what—something about the set of his shoulders, or the shadows around his eyes…

She just suddenly realized it.

He wasn't _planning_ anything.

Something had _happened_.

Or _not _happened.

Loki swung around, marched back toward the mantel—

And passed it.

Jane leaped back toward the stove as he strode right up to the table and grasped the back of a chair with his right hand.

Pain radiated from him, and it went straight through her. He gripped the chair so hard she thought he might break it. His glare turned to a snarl, and his hand quivered.

Then, as Jane watched, his expression altered. His eyes cleared, as if something had occurred to him. His head tilted toward her.

She snatched up the spatula, desperately trying not to make noise, and began stirring the potatoes on the skillet. The dull scraping filled the silence.

And he looked at her.

She could feel it—see it, out of the corner of her eye. She sensed his penetrating gaze run up and down the length of her.

Her heart hammered, but she showed nothing on her face, keeping her attention on the food. She made herself hum a little, even though she had no idea what song it was. She couldn't let her hands shake. She _couldn't _start thinking what she was starting to think…

He moved.

Her head came up.

The front door slammed open—

And he was gone.

Jane threw down the spatula and hurried out of the kitchen after him, stumbling down that cursed step and grabbing the doorframe for support against the blasting wind.

He walked rapidly straight out across the grass, and for a fleeting moment Jane thought he was _leaving_—

He stopped. He turned to face the north, his hand gripping his necklace.

For a second, neither he nor Jane moved. She held her breath.

The sun came out.

Jane gasped.

It was like heaven had opened its floodgates and poured pure, brilliant light down onto the whole earth. Color washed through Loki's figure—the deep greens and browns of his clothing, the flashing gold of his tunic's metal accents; the dark blue in the edges of his raven hair and the stunning emerald in his eyes. And all around him, the grass came to life with lush greens and light blues—the windy air itself hung rich and bright.

Loki stared straight up into the sky, his expression open and astonished—and for a moment, he reminded Jane of an old painting of an awestruck shepherd gazing up at an angel—an angel with widespread wings who said "_Be not afraid! I bring good news—!" _

The clouds covered the sun.

The valley fell dark.

Everything returned to the gray and grim—and a cold wind moaned.

Loki's face went blank.

His gaze drifted downward, listless. His hand released his necklace. He swayed to one side. His eyelashes flickered.

And in a silent rush, all the strength left his frame.

The wind disturbed the edges of Jane's hair. She pressed a hand to her chest—but the brutal ache that rose up and through her heart made her take a fistful of her sweater.

She had never seen someone look so alone.

Her brow twisted, but she couldn't look away. For a long while she stayed there, leaning against the doorframe, as the mountain winds murmured through the valley.

LLLLL

Jane had eventually come inside and eaten her potatoes, even though she'd lost her appetite. She'd done the dishes—twice as slowly as she usually would have. She'd cleaned up the bathroom, then had to re-do it because she'd absent-mindedly put half the toiletries back in the wrong places. After that, there were no chores left. So she sat at the breakfast table in the little wooden chair, her knees hugged to her chest, staring out the front window, and thinking about the one thing she'd been trying so hard to avoid:

He didn't have a plan.

He didn't have a series of hiding places he was planning to drag her to. He wasn't going to ask for her ransom. He wasn't craftily avoiding the Avengers whilst plotting their downfall elsewhere.

Jane pulled her knees tighter, her jaw tensing.

This had _never _been his plan. He had _wanted _Thor to take him back to Asgard—but then, when he'd started doubt that would happen, he hadn't had time to make a _new_ plan, past the initial act of taking her hostage. The only thing that was clear was that he had just been expecting something—or someone.

But it hadn't come.

And now he seemed cut adrift. Like a ship without an anchor.

Jane's whole body started to feel cold. She tried to swallow, but it hurt. She closed her eyes.

The one without an anchor was _her_.

She'd done this—this whole, reckless thing—on blind faith and a heady rush of adrenaline. Keeping busy, staying alive, staying warm, staying fed, all the while mentally dodging around the one fatal flaw she'd always known was there but refused to acknowledge:

She didn't know what to do next.

She'd avoided another use of the tesseract—she'd tricked Loki into taking her here so the Avengers couldn't find him…

But now what?

Jane touched her lips with her fingertips and squeezed her eyes shut harder.

He had no plan.

Neither did she.

And now they were _both_ lost.

LLLLLL

The door squeaked open.

Jane blinked, coming out of the haze that had covered her all day. She half twisted, and caught a glimpse of Loki, by the dim twilight, ease through the door. His head hung low as he shut the door behind him. He stepped past her as if he couldn't see her, his boots slowly tapping, and returned to his corner. He stared at the little painting on the wall. Jane watched him, her whole chest heavy. It was getting hard to see his tall figure—the sun was going down, and the room was dimming.

A soft bubbling sound woke her up even more. She sat up, taking a breath. She could smell it.

She'd forgotten about the bone on the stove.

She got up—winced as she stretched her stiff legs—and tiptoed back across the cold floor into the kitchen. She had to lean close over the simmering pot, but the delicious smell that wafted up to her was enough for her to know that the broth was ready.

She opened a cabinet and pulled out some salt, then shook a few dashes into the pot. It wouldn't be _quite _like the chicken broth her mom used to make, _but_…

She fished around in the clattering silverware for a ladle, then opened the cabinet door and pulled out a mug and set it on the counter. Her hand slowed. She stared up into the dark storage.

She pulled out another mug.

Biting her lip and hoping she wouldn't splash and burn herself, Jane ladled broth into one of the mugs, took a teaspoon, dipped some out, blew on it, and tasted it.

Not bad. Flavorful, hot—and it soothed the throat.

Good enough.

She ladled some into the other mug.

Taking them both up in her hands, she walked as evenly as she could back across the creaky floorboards toward the living room and peeked out.

He was sitting on the couch, on the end closest to the breakfast table, gazing into the dead fireplace. She hesitated, then stepped out. She set her own cup down on the table, then carried the other one over to his left side.

He had his elbow propped up on the armrest, his fingers draped across his lips. She studied his angular profile for a second, but he didn't acknowledge her. Jane realized he probably didn't know she was there.

"I made some broth from the bone you gave me," she said softly. Her voice sounded odd, after so much silence.

He didn't move. She edged closer.

"It's good." She held it down to him. "Here."

She held it there, inches from his hand.

He took a small breath.

Turned his hand, and absently grasped the mug, then lowered it down onto the armrest.

Jane turned back toward the table.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She stopped.

Her head came around, and she stared at him.

He gazed at the fireplace, unseeing.

The quiet acknowledgement suspended in the air.

Jane swallowed hard.

And went back into the kitchen.

She moved carefully, but deliberately—the whole time feeling something pull on the core of her, making her keep glancing back toward the couch.

She picked up three candles on stands and a box of matches, then trailed back into the living room. She came around the couch, knelt on the hearth and placed the candles on the stones. Then, with a sharp strike of a match in her grip, a bright little light flared to life. A light that soon bore three more, before it extinguished. After that, Jane got up, retrieved her broth, paced back around and sat down on the floor by those candles, leaning her right shoulder against the stone of the fireplace, tucking her legs underneath her.

The gentle glow of just those three candles filled the room—eased the hard, pale lines of Loki's face and the tense angle of his shoulders. His eyes, luminous in this light, looked gray again. But fathomless, and distant, like the ocean's horizon. Hawk-like black eyebrows still drew together, dull tension in his brow. The firelight glittered against the metal of his clothes, and against the barest edge of the silver necklace. Shadow swathed around him like a garment—but rich, and soft.

He glanced down at the broth, as if considering it from a long way away. After a lengthy pause, he brought it to his mouth, and drank it.

Jane turned her attention to the gently dancing candle flames and drank her own broth in small sips. It was still very hot—it steamed around her face. But it kept her hands warm.

She watched as Loki gingerly transferred the mug to his right hand, propped his elbow up again and rested his finger on his lips. Now, he stared into the three small flames. Their color danced against his gaze.

Something pressed against Jane's breastbone. She opened her mouth…

But stayed quiet.

Loki blinked slowly. Once. Twice.

He bent, and set the mug down on the floor. It thudded softly. Then, the skin around his eyes tightening, he pulled his legs up onto the couch, shifted his upper body, and laid his head down on the armrest. He lay on his side, still watching the candles—but the tension in his brow had faded.

The wind gusted again, making the walls mutter deep down. A rush of air sucked at the chimney, and the candles flickered, but didn't go out. Jane glanced around the room. Darkness had fallen, surrounding them—except for this little halo of light. She drank more of her broth, feeling it warm her all the way down to her heels. She looked at Loki.

He was asleep.

She sat straight up—then froze.

His arms wrapped around himself, but his eyes were closed.

He sighed, and turned onto his back.

For just a moment, Jane felt a spark of something that resembled _relief—_

But then he stirred.

His arms released, but his hands closed to fists beside him.

His head twitched. He grunted.

His right hand spasmed open, then closed, then opened and closed again.

It drifted down. The fingers of his left hand stretched out and flexed. He turned his head away.

Then, his whole face stiffened, and his back arched slightly.

His eyes moved beneath soft eyelids.

He halted. As if he was listening…

His eyebrows drew together—his forehead twisted sharply.

His lips parted.

"_Ohh,"_ Loki whispered, his whole bearing breaking, as if he had finally realized something that sent an ache straight through him. He closed his mouth, and swallowed.

And a tear slid down his left temple, sparkling in the firelight.

Jane's heart stopped.

She lurched toward him, then controlled herself. Her hands trembled around her mug.

Then, all at once, she set the broth down and firmly pushed it away.

She got up, took three steps, knelt down right by his head, reached out and brushed the tear away with her fingertips.

His breathing shuddered, and a flicker crossed his expression.

But he didn't wake up.

Jane rested her left elbow on the edge of the couch and leaned against it, her eyes sweeping over his face.

His breathing came unsteadily, his face and body taut next to her. Jane's heart pounded—but that tear still glistened. Her lip trembled.

With a soft stroke, she wiped away its trail with her thumb, tracing the dark bruise under his eye. She turned her hand over, and gently ran the back of her fingers down across his soft temple.

"It's all right," she choked, as she earnestly wiped all traces of that tear away, though she could hardly hear herself. "It's all right."

He took a deep breath. His forehead eased. She watched every close, vivid movement of his face, unwilling to pull herself away.

And the tight grip released his body at last.

He relaxed.

And this time, he breathed deeply, evenly.

Asleep.

Slowly, Jane withdrew her hand—his tear gleamed on her fingertips.

For a long while, she stayed put, watching him sleep. Finally, she started to get drowsy. She reluctantly got up, picked up her broth and finished it, and with one last look at him, she went into her room to go to bed—but she didn't shut the door.

_To be continued…_

_Review, dear Wonderfuls :) _


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter is dedicated to the many friends who came to my aid in my hour of need. As the battle was recent, this chapter—being the next in line—naturally belongs to you; but it happens to be the next in line by a touch of Providence. For you see, of all the chapters, past and present, THIS is the one I would have chosen for you. _

_Bless you, and enjoy._

_P.S. For the LAST section, I listened to the Thor Soundtrack: Science and Magic. Religiously._

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER EIGHT

"_It is in your moments of decision that your destiny is shaped." _

_-Anthony Robbins_

Jane closed her eyes and took three very deep breaths of morning air as she walked, ramming her hands in her pockets and lifting her face to the eastern wind. She opened her eyes and blinked, glancing up at the wide, ascending valley in front of her, and the gray mountains to either side. Again, low clouds covered the sky, and the breeze twisted and slithered uneasily through her hair and clothes.

The grass swished around her boots as she tramped. Sometimes she clenched her jaw, other times she restlessly ran her hand through her hair. She shook herself, then did it again. It didn't help. Her legs still felt like jelly, and her stomach was one hard knot.

She hadn't slept for more than a couple hours last night. The whole time, she had turned onto one side, then the other, tangling up her sheets, then throwing them off, then scrambling to pull them back on, only to shove her pillow onto the floor. All at once, she would feel fevered, then ice-cold and sweaty, then fevered again. But she knew she wasn't sick.

Hour after hour, her thoughts had spun around and around one action, and still wouldn't relent, no matter how fast she walked. Those same fresh memories—anxiously rehearsed in her mind five-thousand times across her bedroom ceiling—washed up again in front of her vision, almost obscuring the real grass and rocks.

Last night. A haze of candlelight, homesickness, and adrenaline.

Of actually getting up off the floor and going _right up to him_.

Of touching his face…

Running her fingertips across his eyelid and cheek…

Jane's hand burned and she squeezed it into a fist inside her coat as her heart pounded like a rabbit's.

"Stupid," she bit out. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_."

She couldn't calm down—her heart rate got faster—which made her legs feel even more unsteady.

"_Yes, _stupid," she continued to berate herself. "Stupid for lots of reasons, you idiot."

None of it had really sunk in by the time that she had crawled into bed—but as soon as her head had hit the pillow and the house had fallen into deep silence…

Jane suddenly wanted to kick something, but when she jerked to a stop and looked frantically around for something _to _kick and saw nothing but grass—she felt nauseated. Her eyebrows drew together, she pulled her hand out of her pocket and pressed it to her stomach, then her chest. She made herself close her eyes again, made herself open her mouth and take deep breaths…

She fought it, but some sort of strange, throbbing sensation had somehow invaded her ribcage and gone down inside the deepest part of her. And no matter what she did, it just got worse.

She heaved out a voiced breath—a strained, exasperated sound—and put a hand to her forehead.

She needed to do something. She needed to be out of that house, out _here_, in the wind, _doing _something. Besides storming off to who-knows-where.

She opened her eyes, glanced over at an outcropping of rocks, set her jaw and started that way.

LLLLL

Loki opened his eyes.

He stared up at the dingy brown ceiling. Cloudy, mid-morning daylight filled the room.

He sat up so fast he had to grab the back of the couch for support.

He had fallen _asleep._

His head spun—and then his eyes went wide and clamped his teeth in anticipation of the wrenching pain that was about to shoot through his ribs…

Nothing.

He glanced to the right, his forehead slowly contracting in a frown.

His left hand started toward his injury, paused—then covered it, pressing down, then exploring all the way across his tunic.

It felt fine. As if nothing had ever happened.

His heart picked up speed. His attention flew to the hearth.

Three candles, half burnt-down, sat extinguished.

And his recollection rushed backward.

He had _sworn _he would not fall asleep. He could not afford to sleep—the sensation of a looming presence, of pressure on his bones, had persisted all the rest of shadowy yesterday and into the night.

But somehow, a cup of broth had found its way into his hand. He remembered being slightly confused, wondering how it had gotten there…

Had he said something, then? He almost thought so…

And then _she_ had whispered past him, behind him, then in front of him, and lit those candles.

He had fixated upon them, watching the languid movement of the flames…

Without thinking, he had drunk from the broth—and it had made him warm.

And drowsy.

His whole body had turned heavy, and sitting up had become uncomfortable.

Still stalwart in his conviction that he would stay awake, he had laid down on his side, still watching the candles, using them as a tool to stay conscious…

Darkness had suddenly claimed him.

Claimed him with a vengeance and a violent grasp—like a sea monster clamping down on his leg and hauling him down to the depths.

He had immediately thrashed against its force, but his limbs had turned so sluggish he could hardly move…

And then the visions came. Not visions—memories.

Flashing before him with crisp and vivid life, brilliant sound and knife-edge reality. He could _feel _himself once again in these places…could smell the air of them…could sense his own body move…

Cold sweat on his skin as he hurried through a dark, marble corridor, a slender shaft of mistletoe gripped in his left hand as his heart pounded in his ears…

Holding onto the end of the All-Father's staff with a death-grip—its icy metal burning his fingers and needles of sea-spray hitting his face as he stared up, far up, past Thor's fluttering blood-red cape into a single rugged face and cold blue eye, framed by a glowing halo of spinning stars.

_No, Loki._

_ No._

_ No, Loki…_

His fingers relaxing—releasing the staff…

Thor's horrified cry…

Falling, falling…

A barbaric bone-grip nearly crushing his left forearm.

Terror launching through him that his limb was about to be turned to ice—

Watching, eyes locked, as his armor tumbled away and his very skin _changed color_…

A woman in a long, white dress; her golden hair done up elegantly, pacing the torchlit hallways of Asgard, tears running down her face, as she murmured, over and over, "Thor…_Thor_…"

Manacles chewing the flesh from his wrists. Blackness. Cold. Wet. Stone. Chains jingling against rock.

A drop of liquid striking his shoulder and spiking down through him like a lance as he arched his back and _screamed…_

Standing in the throne room, surrounded by the court and his family, yet touched by no one. Utterly solitary. As if he carried a plague, or bore the marks of leprosy. The hall was draped in mourning and silence, Loki's hands bound with both metal and magic. Odin, bearing his staff and clad in his golden armor, looking him in the face, and speaking words that shook the foundations:

_"What you have done cannot be forgiven. You are no longer my son. Therefore, I sentence you to_—"

Loki's memory went blank.

He blinked, and sat still on the couch for a moment. He closed his eyes. His forehead furrowed hard.

He remembered the nightmare in blinding clarity up until that instant. But something had happened.

Something had broken in, shattered the dream and sent it off in splinters.

Someone had touched him.

He opened his eyes and stared, unseeing, at the far wall.

Fingers, on his face. Feather soft, gentle—running beneath his eye, tingling across his cheek, stroking down his temple. Sending chills racing through his entire body.

He had never felt such a caress—smooth, earnest, warm. _Unfamiliar_. Thrillingly strange, like accidentally touching a raw spark of electricity.

He had instantly yearned toward it, before he could even form a coherent thought—and then the crashing of his heart had tried to wake him up—

Loki blinked again.

But he had not awakened.

And everything had gone dark a moment later.

Loki threw himself off the couch and strode toward the corner, not knowing why, raking his hand through his hair.

Jane.

Jane had touched him.

_Touched _him.

She had dared to cross the floor, kneel down beside him, and let her hand softly fall upon his face.

And he had _wanted _it.

Loki's whole frame unbalanced. He stepped sideways, wide eyes searching the floor, then the rest of the room. His heart raged against his breastbone.

Where was she?

He strode toward her room and shoved the door aside. It creaked.

The chamber was empty. The bed was made, the luggage case hidden.

He whirled, and in five steps he swept into the kitchen.

Clean dishes sat beside the sink.

She was gone.

Loki's hands closed to fists.

She had put him under a spell—enchanted him with sleep and then escaped. _This _had been her plan all along—she had just been biding her time until she had the strength and resources to—

The front door abruptly creaked open.

He spun around.

Jane blew in, dressed and in her coat, the wind gusting her hair all around her flushed face. Loki took a step toward her, frowning intensely as he watched.

She shoved the door closed with a bang, pushed at her messy locks as she started forward—

And stumbled over the stair, almost flinging down her little bouquet of yellow flowers.

"If I trip over that step _one _more time—" she swore. Then stopped.

Bright brown eyes flashed up to meet his.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Slowly, deliberately, Loki folded his arms, and lowered his head, never taking his gaze from her. But his heart still beat fast.

She faltered, and glanced away.

"Good morning," she murmured. And she edged into the kitchen. Loki stayed where he was, but she maneuvered past him to open the cabinet, and pull out a tall, clear glass. Then, the flowers still in her left hand, she pumped gurgling water into the glass, set it down on the counter and arranged the flowers in it, like a makeshift vase.

"Where were you?" Loki said, keeping his voice very low.

Her hands stopped moving, but she didn't turn.

Then, she continued arranging.

"I went outside to pick some flowers. Wanted some fresh air, after being inside all day yesterday."

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

This time when she stopped, she didn't resume. And she didn't say anything.

"I did," Loki told her, lifting his chin. "In fact, I slept all through the night."

She lowered her head.

Loki's whole bearing tightened.

"I _never _sleep through the night," he said, his voice even as a knife's edge. "What have you done to me?"

Her head twitched to the side, then she turned around and leveled a confused, sideways look at him, her lips parting.

"What?"

"You mustn't deny it. You enchanted me to sleep," he accused. His eyes narrowed. "Though your reason still somewhat eludes me."

Her eyebrows went up.

"I _enchanted _you?" she cried, looking around and almost laughing. "I can't…I don't know _how_ to—"

"What of this place, Miss Foster?" he snapped. "This very place amongst the legions of little cabins in the depths of these innumerable mountains—_this _is the place we came to. The one your father and Erik Selvig knew so well."

"_You _brought us here!" she pointed out.

He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a sharp look.

"Did I?"

She swallowed, staring back at him. And he watched as she went pale.

He squeezed his fists, but forcibly kept his face clear.

"So perhaps now you will understand the source of my bewilderment_,_" he continued, his voice liquid ice. "Why would you bother to enchant me into such a deep sleep—and yet remain here?" He glanced out the window. "It must mean you have no designs upon escaping. So, then…Are you waiting for a signal? Are you listening for further instruction?" He turned back and pinned her with his eyes. He quieted his voice. "You have been hiding something from the beginning—I can feel it. Someone has advised you—someone has laid out a plan for me and you are the first piece in the game." He looked coldly at her. "But I must warn you, _Fjellfiolett—_you will not succeed."

She stayed still, gazing back at him. Steady, and unnervingly calm.

And, carefully, she frowned.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked.

Loki blinked.

"What?"

"What are you so afraid of?" she said again. "You asked me all of those questions, made all those speculations, but you never once said anything about Fury or Stark or Thor or any of those guys. You said 'something.' And 'someone.'" Her voice grew quieter, but her dark eyes more intense. "And I saw you yesterday. Pacing back and forth, like something was _very _wrong." She paused, then nodded firmly. "You _are _afraid of something. And I don't think it's the Avengers."

"_How_ _dare you?" _Loki hissed, lowering his fists down to his sides, his eyes blazing. "When first I saw you, I assumed you knew—I had _hoped _that you had seen the terror I had flung down from the skies upon the people of that wretched city. But now I see that you are nothing but an ignorant school-girl with a mind as weak as her _body." _He loomed toward her, towering over her. "You think you know, but you _cannot _know who and _what _I truly am," he spat. "I am the son of ice-breathing monsters and master of every ancient magic from realm-slipping to the black art of blood-splitting. I have set foot on _every_ realm from Asgard to Helheim and fought thousand-year _wars _on Svartalfaheim, Vanaheim and Niflheim!" He stepped nearer, staring down into her wide eyes, casting his full shadow across her. She stepped back one step. Another. And he advanced on her.

"I have fallen from the broken bifrost bridge and endured horrors you could never imagine," he went on. "But from the complete ashes of ruin I rose up and shattered the shield that covered Midgard—landing in the very heart of my enemies' stronghold." He drove her slowly ever backward, never releasing her from his frozen gaze. "And I buried it. Just as I buried all those who raised a hand against me—except that quick-eyed assassin…and Erik Selvig."

Jane stopped. Her eyes flashed.

A slow smile crept over Loki's face.

"Ah. Yes, you've been wondering about that, haven't you? About just how I knew that little pet name Selvig adopted for you. The name of the very flower you just brought in—the mountain violet."

Loki could almost hear Jane's heart pounding.

"What did you do?" Jane choked, gripping the edge of the doorframe with her right hand.

Loki's eyebrow flicked.

"I took their minds," he said. "My magic invaded them, body and soul—and I _unmade _them," he leaned over her, toward her, watching every move on her face. "Every thought, every action, was in my possession—and they did as I commanded. And I pried open their hearts to me, forcing them to tell me all about the ones they held most dear. And when Erik was not laboring on the device that created the portal, he never remained silent on the subject of the little brown-eyed child he had raised as his own, after her father died in a sudden and _violent _accident."

A shudder ran through Jane's whole body. Her expression sharpened with disbelief.

"He…_Erik _built the portal?"

"He built it well," Loki answered. "So well that if the Chitauri had not failedme, I would now be enthroned before you as your _king_…" He lowered his voice to a deadly whisper, but his soul shook. "And you would not dare to even _stand _in my presence, let alone conjure the audacity to _question me." _

Jane leaped backward, turned, and grabbed the front door. She threw it open, letting the wind barrel in—and ran.

Loki watched the door swing shut.

Then, he grabbed the glass of flowers and flung them at the kitchen threshold.

They smashed.

Glass and water shattered across the floor—the flowers splayed out like coins.

Movement caught his eye out the window.

She had stopped far out in the grass, her back to him, her arms wrapped around herself.

For a moment, Loki watched her, then glanced back at the wreckage of glass and flowers. Then, he strode out across the crunching glass toward his old, familiar corner.

LLLLL

Jane drew to a stop. And shivered.

She glanced up and around her, coming back to herself.

Trees.

Wind tumbled through their highest branches, making the larger ones groan and creak. Far away, birds chattered.

She glanced behind her, still quivering a little. She could barely glimpse slivers of open country back there. Quite a way back there.

She bit her lip.

She hadn't meant to come this far. She hadn't meant to come at all. She'd just stood there by the house for a long time listening to the wind—then started out over the grass without looking at anything.

She'd gone downhill, because that was easiest. She'd stopped a couple times to catch her breath—because even though she was just walking, everything was difficult. It felt like she had something sharp stuck between her ribs.

But as soon she started dwelling on _that_, she broke into a sprint—just to feel the wind blast through her hair and clothes and scatter her thoughts.

Just to get away.

Now, in the shelter of the wood, she swallowed hard, then did it again, turned back around and kicked a pine cone. She had left the house hours ago. She really had no idea how far she'd walked.

Absently, she reached under the collar of her coat and rubbed the bump under her sweater—that necklace that she'd never taken off yet, not once.

"I don't know what you were thinking, whoever-you-were," she said hoarsely, glancing up at the sky. She shook her head and lowered it as her throat closed. Her brow twisted. She swiped at her eyes, then shoved both hands in her pockets and kept walking.

There was a village down here—far down, in the valley. She remembered it because she and her dad had met Erik there when they'd first arrived, and then the three of them had hiked up to the cabin. If she had most of the day and could keep hold of her sense of direction, she knew she could make it.

Hollowness filled up her chest. She swallowed one more time—it still hurt. She shook her head, and kept going.

LLLLL

The front door clicked.

Loki turned around.

His hand drifted down—he had been pressing his fingers to his lips, his thoughts wandering.

Now his attention focused on the door.

The latch clicked again. And again.

He walked slowly toward it, leaned around…

And saw that it had not fully latched. The wind was swinging the door back and forth, so that it softly tapped against the metal on the post.

He picked his way around the glass on the floor, reached out and pushed the door open.

It swung out, toward the wind and the sloping hills.

The land was empty.

She was gone.

His eyes swept the distance. For just a moment, his chest constricted.

She was not there.

He pulled the door shut.

The click resounded.

His hand slid off the cold metal of the handle. He stood there for a while. Finally, he turned around, and faced the sitting room.

It was unbearably quiet. He could hear himself breathing.

He stepped back in, again avoiding the glass, and sat down on the couch in the same place.

The dead candles on the hearth caught his eye. He studied them, rubbing his forefinger back and forth on his lower lip. He went still.

He pushed off and got up.

He clasped his hands behind his back and circled the couch, counting his steps on the worn carpet. Soon, he mindlessly brought his hands forward, and began drawing a circle in the palm of his left hand with his right thumb.

As he passed by for the fifth time, he lifted his eyes to the door of her room. He hesitated, then stepped toward it. He looked inside.

All was as it had been.

He stepped in. The floorboard creaked under his right foot.

The patchwork bed was made so neatly. He drew in a breath. And it smelled like lilac in this room. Like her.

He turned, and left. But he only got halfway across the room when a soft sound came from outside the north window.

He strode directly to it, put his hand on the sill and looked out.

A little brown bird had landed on a pile of moldy wood, and was pecking at it.

Loki watched it, then straightened, glanced down, and cleared his throat.

At last, the door of the kitchen drew his gaze. He stayed where he was, resisting.

At last, though, he gave in, and went to it.

He paused on the threshold, away from the broken glass, listening to the depth of silence all around him. Then, he folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe, and glanced up at the motionless pump, and the empty sink.

An old song hummed through his memory, in the gentle tones of a young woman working by candlelight.

He looked the other way.

His eyes found the lace curtains of the west window.

And narrowed.

Cautiously, he moved around the glass and the breakfast table, then he pushed the curtain aside.

He went still.

And his hawk-like vision sharpened on an eerie, unearthly light hovering amongst the distant wood.

LLLLL

Jane drew to a stop between two ancient pines. She held her breath, and listened.

From far away and below her, came a sound on the back of the weaving wind. A low sound, almost inaudible. But she could feel it disturbing the air.

Like the muffled roar of a very distant train.

And as she stood, it began to grow louder.

Quickly, she glanced around—and her attention lighted on a large boulder next to a slightly leaning tree. She headed toward it, climbed up onto the cool, mossy back of the huge stone, stood up, and grabbed hold of the pine tree. She made a face. She'd climbed a lot of trees as a little girl, when her dad was teaching in Sweden, but she hated climbing pines—they were sticky and pokey and caught on her clothes. But she succeeded in catching a firm enough hold and finding places on the branches to put her feet, so she pulled her way up as best she could, twigs and bark snapping underneath her.

Finally, she had climbed far enough up that she could just see over the tops of a lot of the trees. She swung around and sat on a branch, panting, and faced the west, where the sound was coming from.

And slowly, the breath left her.

"Oh…_no_."

Smoke.

Smoke was rising from the woods, from one side of the valley to the other. And deep down, in the chest of the forest, she could see the dark, flickering glow of fire.

And the wind, as always, was out of the west.

It was coming this way.

"Oh, _crap_," she gasped, swinging her leg over, grabbing the branch and hurriedly lowering herself back down to the next one. She scraped her hands and the hem of her jeans caught on something and tore. She hauled up on one of the branches and gritted her teeth. "Slow down. You want a broken leg…?" She scrambled the rest of the way down as carefully as she could, and landed with a thud on the boulder. Breathing hard, she glanced westward, and dusted off her coat.

"Okay, I've got a little bit till it gets here," she managed, looking up at the sky. Then, she turned and faced the way she had come. She set her teeth.

She didn't have a choice. She had to get out of these trees.

She slid down the boulder, landed on the thick brush and pine needles, and started toward the east—trying to ignore the fact that she could now smell cinders on the air.

LLLLL

Loki stepped out of the house and perched on the edge of the porch. He lifted his face and took a deep breath of the west wind—the wind that suddenly tugged at his hair and coat with far more force than it ever had.

Ashes.

He narrowed his eyes at the dark, deep western valley—and the glow that permeated its depths. A cloud of smoke rose from the midst of it, northern end to southern end, like a stone wall. He rubbed the tips of his thumb and forefinger together.

It had come upon the forest too sudden—the flames had eaten through it too quickly. And the wind writhed like a snake.

His heart, which had just calmed barely an hour ago, jolted within him—with an entirely different and familiar dread.

He ran his tongue across his upper lip, tasting the air. He closed his mouth and swallowed…

And the bitter taste galled his throat, sparking in his mouth like a mixture of fire and spice.

Magic.

The air, the smoke—tasted of _magic_.

He backed away, staring hatefully at the advancing flames, reached behind him and gripped the door.

So. Like fox hunters, They hoped to smoke him out.

A black look darkened his face and he lowered his head and shoulders.

A shielding spell for this little house would take no energy at all, and it would be easy enough to couple it with an invisibility spell. With so much violent magic thick in the sky, They would never detect such minute flickers, such insignificant flashes. He could plant the spells in the fireplace and they would follow the chimney upward and cascade down over the rest of the house, covering it completely.

He pulled the door open, giving one last look at the wood, and strode back inside. He hopped up the step.

And shattered glass crunched deafeningly beneath his boots.

His gaze fell upon the wet floor, the glimmering slivers of glass, and the bright yellow flowers strewn out beneath his feet.

He froze.

Then, before he thought of it, he bent down and picked up one of the delicate blooms from amongst the splinters. He straightened, holding it between his fingertips. Its bright color reminded him of a chip of sunshine against the rest of the drab house.

Its petals were wilting.

The wind blew the door open. The earthy scent of burning wood invaded the house.

Loki's heart thudded once, hard.

And he turned his head and stared out at the dark valley, the flower still clasped in his hand.

LLLLL

Jane coughed. She sucked in a breath, then coughed again, covering her mouth. She hurried faster, realizing that the sky was darkening overhead—and it wasn't because of the clouds.

She kicked noisily through the brush, covering her mouth and nose with her hand, fighting the pangs in her legs as she hiked uphill over the even ground.

She blinked. Her eyes were starting to water—and ahead of her, a dull, gray haze wandered between the trees…

She stopped.

A haze…

And a flickering light, across the ground.

The fire had come around in front of her.

Her pulse quickened. She looked to her right—

Not half a mile away, tongues of flame, like a line of evil sprites, danced across the pine needles. And they were starting to edge up the trees.

She swung around to her left.

Still hazy, but no creeping light.

She coughed again, and swiped at her eyes. She thought she saw something…

Jane slowly lowered her hand.

Through the cloud of smoke, a low, dark figure stood on four legs. Four legs, a long tail, and pointed ears.

The wolf.

He was looking at her.

Jane stopped moving.

She could not see his eyes or any of the rest of his features—but she recognized him. Her stomach tightened.

Then, abruptly, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Jane let herself cough again, and cleared her throat.

"Okay, so…" Jane choked, trying to stay calm. "Downhill. Water."

Immediately, she started that direction, sticks cracking under her heels.

She knew there was a river down here—she'd drawn water out of it when they'd gone hunting. It would probably be freezing cold, but she could get down in it—even _lie down_ in it—if the fire came that direction too.

Jane picked up the pace, taking care not to trip. The air thickened, darkened—she pulled the front of her sweater up over her mouth and nose, ducking her head low as she hurried. The roar was not so distant, now.

The ground behind her suddenly shook.

She spun around—

To see a dead tree, its branches and bark wreathed in spinning flame, careen through the air and slam to the ground—

—and roll toward her.

She turned and ran.

She pelted down the hill, her sweater falling loose of her face. The smoke stabbed at her lungs as she panted—she pumped her arms and leaped over rocks and tangles of underbrush. She glanced behind her.

The fire followed.

Waist-high, like a tangled, fleet-footed legion of screeching, thundering, flashing cavalry, the blinding flames bit at her heels, tearing up the ground _right_ behind her and leaping up the trunks of the trees all around her.

Heat billowed over her, scorching the ends of her hair, the edges of her clothes and her bare face. She pushed her pace, even as a side ache knifed its way into her stomach.

The ground turned rocky and uneven. Ferns slapped her knees.

She was here! She was almost here—!

She glanced behind her—the fire leaped at the backs of her legs—

She turned back around—

She only half saw it.

The flash of a branch, completely afire, right at eye level.

It slapped her across the face.

Sharp wood and searing flame thrashed into her forehead and right eye and scalded her right cheek.

She _screamed_.

She tumbled sideways, her hand flying to her face, but she couldn't see.

The branch had torn through her skin and she could see _nothing _out of her right eye.

A vine caught her foot.

She fell.

She crashed down a hill, tumbling uncontrollably, thudding from rock to rock until—

She splashed face-first into freezing water.

She flailed up and out of it, gasping, the icy river sinking its teeth into her, soaking her hair and coat and pants and blinding her good eye. Her hands and knees slithered on the round stones on the bottom as reeling agony slashed at her face and the current fought to undermine her.

She jerked to a kneeling position, her hands twitching toward her eye—but all they bumped against was numb slickness and hot liquid…

The stones gave out under her left knee.

She fell sideways, plunging her hands into the water to keep from submerging.

A wrenching, snarling twisting sound shuddered through the air.

Her head came up—her left eye blinked clear of the water.

A tree, entirely swallowed by hellish light, tilted toward her.

She kicked at the rocks, but her balance spun and her vision blacked for a millisecond

The tree trunk splintered—broke.

It toppled toward her.

She threw herself onto her back, a scream catching in her throat—

Something flashed in front of her—

And a tall man, garbed in full armor that swam with the gleaming reds and golds of the soaring fire, a billowing cape the tint of night, and an aquiline helmet fronted by two backward-curving, wicked horns—and whose pale face contrasted sharply with his flashing eyes and ebony hair—planted his feet on either side of her, striking his boots through the surface of the river. He towered over her, staring with a hard and stunning emerald gaze straight down into her face.

And the next instant, he spread his arms, lowered his head, braced his back—

And the falling tree smote down onto his shoulders.

The thunderous concussion split the air.

Sparks sprayed.

And the burning tree split in _half_.

The top half thudded onto the opposite bank, growling into the underbrush. He twisted, grabbed the other half with both hands, and with a single swift movement, flung it into the water.

Jane's vision blurred—she couldn't breathe as she tried to focus on that face—the face she hadn't known she'd memorized.

Loki.

_Loki_.

His helmed head whipped around—his brilliant eyes found her again.

"Come," he said—she heard him over the squall of fire.

He bent down, plunged his hands into the gushing water, slid them under her legs and shoulders and lifted her up. Water tumbled down—Jane's arm latched around his shoulders and took his stiff collar in a death grip. The flames arched over their heads like a deadly canopy. He pulled her securely into his chest.

And all at once, Jane heard another sound.

An eerie, piercing chorus of howling.

Loki leaped out of the river—the water sang around his feet. They landed a level higher, his gaze sweeping through the swirling wood. Jane coughed hard, and reflexively tried to turn her face into his shoulder—

Pain slapped her cheek the instant she touched his armor. She yelped.

The swelling howls surrounded them. Loki started forward.

With long, even strides, he wove between the trees. Jane, choking, tried to see ahead of them through the thick smoke.

Somehow, the fire seemed to extinguish in their path. It hissed and died, leaving a black trail, leading them up, up…

And on either side, flashing shadows darted back and forth between the trees, panting and wailing…

Then, three wolves, their tongues lolling, fell in in front of them, trotting ahead even as the fire cleared. And out of the corner of her hearing, Jane caught the patter of paws padding behind them, too.

The forest cackled and writhed all around them and above them, spitting and seething. Loki walked faster, his steps smooth and swift. Trees collapsed behind them, but the wolves still followed, and Loki didn't turn. Jane's whole body shivered. She curled the fingers of her left hand around the collar of his breastplate. Heat pounded on her, pressed down on her…

The sky opened up.

Jane gasped, and turned her head…

Stars.

Were they stars?

Her vision blurred again…

The roar passed behind them. The heat faded back.

Swish, swish, swish…

Tired yipping, endless rustling on either side and in front and behind. Nimble, four-legged shapes escorting them up, to the height of a hill…

Arms tightening around her.

Cold needling through her legs and arms and lips and fingers…

Her right eyelid wouldn't move. And it felt like someone was holding a red-hot fire-iron against her face.

Then she saw it.

A dark, rectangular shape on the top of the hill, standing out against the sky.

Erik's house.

She was safe.

LLLLL

Loki knelt down and let her slide out of his arms—she leaned her left shoulder sideways against the couch. He watched as she wrapped her own wet arms around herself and tucked her legs close to her. She shivered.

The whole room had gone dark—the smoke even covered the moonlight now.

Loki glanced to his left and snapped his fingers.

A light flashed.

A fire leaped to life in the fireplace.

Jane twitched toward it—

"It's all right," Loki promised her. "It's a protection spell. The fire in the forest cannot reach us."

Jane didn't answer. She sat still, looking at nothing with her left eye, and her right…

Loki turned away and paced into the kitchen, his cape rustling after. He snatched up a metal pan and grabbed the handle of the pump. The pump squeaked. Silvery water spilled into the pan. Once it was full, he came back out toward her.

He knelt down right in front of her, close enough so that their knees touched. He set the pan down on the carpet to one side.

He reached up with both hands and pulled off his helmet, then set it up on the end of the couch. His hair fell across his collar, and one strand across his forehead.

He could feel Jane's locked breathing—it shook her small frame. But she wasn't weeping. And her hands closed in fists.

Then, finally, he turned back and looked at her.

For a long while, he couldn't bring himself to move. She sat tight in a ball, her wet hair plastered to her forehead and neck. Her face had drained of its color. Her left eye blinked slowly, her left eyebrow knotted. Her right eye…

Was gone.

Raw, bleeding blisters and lacerations marred her forehead, her eyebrow and her cheek. And her lid, eyelashes and eye itself had been slashed to pieces—and the blood had burned.

"Oh," Loki finally whispered, his forehead twisting. "What have you done?" He slid his hands up and cradled her face. Her good eye fluttered closed.

He eased closer to her, sitting on his right leg and bending his left, propping his right elbow up on the couch. He leaned his face closer to hers, staring full into the blood and open skin, trying to see best by the firelight. His jaw tightened as he moved his fingers across every soft surface of her face, tilting her chin up with his left hand and exploring the edges of the wound with the fingertips of his right.

As he worked, he brought his left wrist down to rest on her shoulder, sliding his fingers around her slender neck and resting his thumb against her jaw. With his right hand, he gently eased the wet strands of hair away from the gashes, and stroked them back behind her ear. Her blood came away on his fingers.

"Jane?" he said quietly.

Her lips moved. She swallowed.

Her eye fluttered open.

He gazed back at her firmly, keeping his expression calm.

"I can mend this," he said firmly, holding her face softly in his hands. "But you must keep still."

She looked back at him—clear and steady.

Pain shot down through him to his very core.

He kept his right hand where it was—against her cheek—and reached over with his left to dip his fingers in the pan of cold water.

Quickly, he brought them back up, feeling the tips of his fingers spark and hum. He touched them to the top edge of the wound on her forehead.

A spreading cobweb of jack frost lighted there, and crept its way down to midway across her brow, covering that portion of the burn. Again, Loki dipped his fingers, and touched her temple. The sparkling frost swept down further, swathing like an icy bandage.

Jane's forehead tensed—he stroked her cheekbone with his thumb as he reached for more water.

"Just a bit of magic," he said quietly.

Her lips moved again.

"Realm-slipping or blood splitting?" she murmured.

He looked at her, startled—

Her good eye halfway opened, and she glanced at him. The edge of her mouth quirked up.

He almost laughed, then his eyes earnestly swept over her whole face, wandering down to her mouth and the small smile there, then up to her eye, which gazed back at him with strained, weary warmth.

"A bit of both, I suppose," he managed softly. He looked again down at the water, putting his hand all the way in. He withdrew it, dripping, and returned his attention to her. "Hold," he said. And he brought his thumb up and pressed it to the wounded mess that had been her eye.

She stayed still.

Loki winced.

The frost spread thickly across the whole of it, even crackling as it moved. Two more touches from his hand, and the entire wound was sealed in a thin layer of ice. Loki withdrew, and rested his hands on his knees.

Jane took a deep breath, closed her eye and sighed. He raised his eyebrows, studying her.

"Does it hurt you?"

She shook her head minutely, reached out and felt for his hand.

Loki blinked—but she caught it, and curled her fingers through his.

For several minutes, they sat there, Loki fixedly watching the frost gradually change from white, to blood red, to blue—and finally, transparent.

Loki cleared his throat.

"Let us have a look." He easily pulled free of Jane's grip and brought both hands up to her face. He held her neck and head steady with his right hand, and with his left, he pressed his fingers to the ice.

It melted beneath his touch. Gingerly, stroking her skin as he did so, he chipped the thin layer away even as it dissolved back into water and slipped in large, crystal drops down her nose, cheek and forehead.

He eased it all off her brow, temple and cheekbone, watching in pleasure as he uncovered nothing but smooth, flawless skin.

Then, his hand paused.

Her good eye stayed closed. Her right eye remained beneath the ice.

He put his right hand thumb under her jaw and tilted her face back, just a little. Then, he laid his thumb against the last bit of frost and slowly slid it aside.

It crumbled.

And beneath it…

Perfect eyelids. Long, black eyelashes, and a smooth, intact eyebrow.

"Open your eyes," he urged.

Jane's brow furrowed. Her eyes shifted beneath her lids—

Loki's heart leaped—her right eye moved in accordance with her left.

Her lashes flickered.

Her eyes opened.

She looked up at him.

A silvery film covered her right eye.

"Wait," Loki said, and laid his thumb against her right eyelid again, as she closed it. He pressed, just lightly, and drew his thumb across to the outside.

An icy tear fell, and trailed down her faultless cheek.

"Now look at me," he said.

She opened them.

And warm, brown eyes, bright as a spring morning, gazed back up into his.

He did smile now, just for an instant.

His hands drifted down, and away from her.

Stunned, she reached up and touched her face in all the places that had just been torn open.

Her eyes flashed to his—her eyes, that suddenly captivated him and wouldn't release him.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

"Practice," he answered, his lips barely moving. Her bright look calmed—turned earnest and intent. It penetrated him. He couldn't look away.

And then, very softly, she smiled at him.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_

_Pretty please?_


	9. Chapter 9

_I dearly love you all. Which is why I have stayed up till one and two in the morning these past few times trying to get the chapter posted for you;)))_

_For the SECOND section, I listened to the "Brave Soundtrack: Noble Maiden Fair," followed by "Norwegian Folk Song-Tor Jaran Apold-violin"_

_For the THIRD section, I listened to Julie Fowlis-Tha Mo Ghaol Air Aird A' Chuain._

_Both VERY softly._

_Enjoy._

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER NINE

"_The greatest explorer on this earth never takes voyages as long as those of the man who descends to the depth of his heart." _

_~Julien Green_

Jane opened her eyes.

She blinked slowly, and opened her eyes again—watching as both of them focused precisely, directly, and showed her a flawless image of the crackling golden flames swaying back and forth in the stone hollow of the fireplace.

Jane shifted her shoulders and sighed, frowning as an ache ran through her body. She was lying on her right side on the couch, covered with the quilt from her bed, her head on her pillow. She hazily remembered limping into her bedroom last night and changing out of her wet clothes and into pajamas, then wandering back out to the living room and just standing there dumbly before Loki had commanded her to lie down. Which she had done. She frowned a little harder. She didn't remember getting the pillow or blanket from her room, though...

Her attention fell on a gleaming object on the couch near her feet. The many surfaces and edges of Loki's helmet, its wicked curved horns and open face turned toward the mantel, glinted with the slow, eerie dance of the flames.

She swallowed. Then did it again. Images and sensations of blazing light—stinging pain—crossed the front of her mind. A chill coursed through her. She halfway sat up, then brought her left hand to her face. Her fingers shook. But they met smooth skin, even as she ran them all over her cheek, nose and forehead. And nothing hurt.

She paused, her heart going quiet as an old memory rose up.

_"Whatever happens, he _will _protect you. Understand?"_

"How are you?"

She jumped, and sat all the way up, grabbing hold of the blanket.

Loki came around the couch, taking his long coat off as he did and draping it over the back of the armchair. His dark eyes found hers instantly, his brow already furrowed.

"I'm…okay," Jane answered, having to think about it.

"Let's have a look." He strode up to her, knelt down on the carpet so he was level with her and slid his hands around her face.

Jane sucked in her breath, stunned.

He stopped, watching her—looking intently straight back into her eyes.

"Have I hurt you?"

"No," Jane said, shaking herself and trying to breathe. She blinked, and swallowed. "No, you're fine."

He gazed back at her a moment longer, the lines between his eyebrows easing. Then, he tilted her face with his right hand, and with a profoundly-soft and expert touch, he explored the curves of her forehead and cheekbone with the fingertips of his left. Jane's eyelashes fluttered and tingles ran all across her cheek to her lips—and breathing wasn't getting any easier.

"Hm," he muttered.

"What?" Jane almost jumped, her eyes closing. "What is it?"

"You don't have a scar after all," he answered.

She stayed very still—he was keeping hold of her. But her eyebrows went up.

"I don't?"

"I would be offended if you did," he said flatly. "I'm the only man ever allowed to apprentice under the finest healer in the nine realms. I invented that technique. The only fault _she_ could ever find with it..." he trailed off, and hesitated. Jane's chest tensed. He withdrew his left hand and put the fingers of his right under her chin.

"Look at me," he said.

Jane forced her eyes open. He leaned toward her and pointed at his nose.

"Focus here."

He snapped his fingers.

White light flashed, then a ball of it floated above his hand. Jane's attention flicked to it.

"No, look here," Loki tapped her chin. She returned her glance to his and kept it there, trying to get over the presence of that startling little light.

He brought the light closer, his focus switching from one of her eyes to the other.

And for a moment Jane gazed, unhindered, back at him.

He was studying her intently, reminding her of an eye-doctor with a flashlight. But she just looked up into his face—a face she'd seen every day for almost a week and a half now—yet she'd never _really _looked at. His long-lashed eyes, especially with the aid of his light, were an astonishing hue of green. Or rather, _hues _of green. Every green imaginable, glittering and changing as the light moved—and then the depths of his pupils...

The shadows thrown by the white glow cast his pale features into sharp and striking aspect—his ink-dark eyebrows drew together, his aristocratic nose cast a black shadow over his cheek, and his mouth set in concentration. Jane accidentally glanced down at his lips, then jerked her attention back to his eyes.

And so she saw it when some of the light went out of them.

"What?" she demanded again.

He extinguished his lamp.

Jane blinked, readjusting to the darker room, then watched him.

His mouth worked—lips tightened. Then, he took a short breath, staring at her right eye.

"You have a small fleck of green in that eye." He pointed briefly at it. His eyebrows raised, just for a moment. "And I cannot fix it. Eir always scolded me—said I seemed bent on leaving my signature on my patients." A bitter look crossed his face. He glanced down. "And I apparently made that mistake last night."

"But I can see," Jane cut in.

Loki frowned—then looked up. And instead of studying her eyes, he looked _into_ them—at _her_. She leaned earnestly toward him.

"It doesn't matter to me what color it is. It could be purple, for all I care." She held his gaze. "Because I can _see_."

He said nothing for a long moment. Then, something in the edge of his mouth—and the corner of his eyes—resembled the ghost of a smile. Then he addressed her frankly, quietly.

"I would have preferred that there be no mark upon your face."

Jane's heart did something, then. Flipped, or twisted—or froze in place. And Loki just gazed at her, at all her features—and the tension in his forehead vanished.

His lips parted. He took a breath…

He glanced away and swallowed.

Jane mentally stumbled, then felt her face get hot. She looked down at her hands.

Something scraped in the kitchen. And panted—and clattered.

Like a dog walking across linoleum.

Jane twisted around, grabbing the back of the couch.

"Are there—"

"—wolves in the house?" Loki finished, standing up. "Yes. Only five, though, and they'll be leaving shortly."

And then that great, maned black one, with eyes like lightning, stepped around the doorframe of the kitchen and looked right at Jane. As she watched, he—very deliberately—licked his chops.

Jane's mouth fell open.

"Don't do that," Loki warned him. "She won't think it's funny."

The wolf snorted.

Loki stepped around the couch and toward the wolf, even as Jane stayed pinned where she sat. Loki stopped a respectful distance away, and addressed the wolf.

"Have you and your brothers had your fill to drink?"

Three more wolves appeared in the doorway, attending to Loki. The leader flicked his ear.

"I suppose you will want to be moving on now," Loki assumed.

The leader glanced at the door.

"Very well," Loki inclined his head. "Safe journey. And thank you."

Jane frowned at that. But the lead wolf and Loki exchanged a look that only they understood. Then, Loki stepped down the stair, opened the door and stood aside.

Without a moment's hesitation, the five wolves bolted out through it, racing right out into the swallowing darkness, their tails wagging—and disappeared.

The next second, Jane _tasted_ soot in the air—

And felt sick.

"What—is it…Is it _still _burning?" she tried, her mind finally catching up. "Why is it dark?"

Loki shut the door, and threw the lock. The bolt snapped loudly into place.

"The smoke is covering the sky," Loki answered, coming back in, then crossing into the kitchen and out of view.

Her stomach sinking, Jane turned to the north window to look out—

Curtains had been pulled across it, just like the curtains by the breakfast table. The only light came from the fireplace.

She pushed the quilt off herself, slowly swung her legs around and stood up. Her knee and ankle twinged, but she made herself walk evenly across the icy floor to the window, and push the curtain to the side enough to see out.

"Oh…" she whispered.

That gray, rugged valley—once beautiful and cold—had contorted into a vision of hell. The distant forest burned relentlessly, blackened and throbbing with low, red flame. Clouds of smothering smoke rolled up into the sky and overshadowed the house, hiding the mountains.

"This isn't right," she breathed. "Something is _really _wrong…"

Metal clattered in the kitchen. Jane couldn't pull herself away from the window.

Loki's voice came through the quiet.

"Come back from there, please. And close the curtain."

"Why?" Jane asked, trying to speak loud enough so he could hear her—but her chest had gone tight.

"I've put a spell over the house to protect it," he said, and she heard him come back out toward the table. "But the invisibility aspect of it will flicker if the light coming from the windows changes."

Jane's fingers closed around the curtain.

"Why does it need to be invisible?"

Loki stopped walking. And for a long while, he was quiet.

"There are far more frightening things in this universe than you've happened to consider, Miss Foster," he finally said. "And I am not keen on any of them showing up on our doorstep."

A chill ran down Jane's spine.

"What things?"

He said nothing. She heard one of the chairs shift. She couldn't pull her eyes away from the writhing flames.

Jane's brow furrowed.

"Where did the wolves come from? They were in the forest with us…in the fire…" She canted her head, confused. "Why would they be in _there?"_

"Because they knew where you were," Loki answered. "And I didn't."

She looked at him.

He didn't turn to her—he was already walking in front of the table, and went back into the kitchen…

And in the middle of the table stood a glass of water, filled with her bright yellow mountain violets.

LLLLL

For the rest of the day, Loki watched her. Not intentionally—she was not going to try to escape, or attempt anything else. But after he re-heated the broth she had made—using the primitive little stove, and adding more bits of elk meat to the mix—he ordered her to the table to eat and drink, and she finally left the window alone and limped across to the nook. She sat down in the chair in front of the food, glanced up and thanked him with a small smile. That minute sliver of emerald in her eye sparkled at him. And after that, he had been unable to take his eyes from her.

She ate everything, and complimented him on the food's flavor. He sat across from her and ate as well, despite a strange, nervous sensation that suddenly invaded the pit of his stomach.

After she finished, she stood up, carefully took her dishes to the kitchen, pumped water and began to wash them, humming as the water splashed and tumbled. Pulled by an unconscious force, Loki pushed his chair back, got his feet and followed her, carrying his own dishes. She turned and took them from him without a word and started to wash them, too. And Loki stayed, lingering back against the doorframe.

He found himself fascinated by the way the water fell across her hands as she worked—though he could not articulate the reason even to himself. Such a silly thing—washing dishes. The work of a servant, a slave. Yet in everything, even minute movements such as drying a glass, she moved with an unconscious elegance that had somehow escaped his notice until today.

For the rest of the dim, quiet afternoon, Jane maneuvered unobtrusively around the house, dusting and arranging—busying herself as the darkness continued to dominate the day. And Loki stood in a corner, sat at the table, walked in front of the fireplace—passing a hand over it as he did to refresh the spells—and finally sat down on the end of the couch he had grown accustomed to, he draped his fingers across his lips as countless wordless observations washed through him, sinking down through him and settling in the space around his heart.

Like the way Jane sometimes hummed slow tunes to herself, in a pleasing and untrained voice, but only while she was absorbed by a task such as sitting on the rug and emptying the large trunk of its antique and dusty contents. How her graceful fingers turned the delicate pages of the old books she unearthed—and how she would absently lift her right hand to brush a strand of her soft hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear.

That face—in profile, and half-hidden in shadow, touched by the gentle light of the fire. The face that betrayed a line of suppressed worry between her perfect eyebrows, and the frame that deliberately would not turn toward either of the windows, despite the distant turmoil that pressed on the walls of the house.

When she walked across the creaking floor, she favored her left ankle, but she never spoke a word of complaint. And when she did utter a low comment about something she had found or the state of the dust on a shelf—directed at herself or him, he could never tell—it brought his head around, like unexpected music in another room. The whole of the little house was filled with the quiet rustlings of her presence, and every dark corner she penetrated soon lost its cobwebs and dust.

Later in the evening—if it could be called that—Jane finally abandoned the trunk, stood up tiredly, walked into the wash room and shut the door. The water therein turned on. But the rest of the house fell quiet.

And Loki, as if the floor had shifted beneath him, suddenly remembered the emptiness following her departure the day before.

He swallowed hard, bit the inside of his lip, and closed his hands. He glanced at the window, and shifted. He turned away, staring over the back of the couch at the trunk and its contents that littered the floor.

After several minutes, however, the west window by the table successfully arrested his attention—and the pressure, the shadow, he had felt before now overshadowed him.

The washroom door opened.

He snapped back to himself, sucking in a deep breath, and turned his head.

Jane emerged, her hair wet, wearing her night clothes and her coat. She immediately went into her bedroom.

His heart fell.

A moment later, though, she came back out, carrying a hair brush and a book he had not seen before. She knelt down by the east corner of the fireplace, facing him, and set the book down on the rug. Wincing a little, she tucked her feet near her, ran her fingers through her hair and brought it in front of her right shoulder, and began to brush it dry.

The shadow in Loki's chest eased. Slowly, he sat back into the couch, his mind calming as he watched her methodically run the brush and her fingers through her long locks of hair, her comely head tilted to one side, her attention unfocused. Gradually, as the heat from the fire and the steady motion of her brush did their work, her hair lightened from chestnut back to doe, and gained a gentle wave that fell pleasantly across her forehead and shoulders. The firelight even added touches of gold and russet to the under layers—but only if it caught them just right.

And then, against his will, Loki's eyes wandered across her every feature, taking in the whole of her—especially the soft perfection of her face, her lips, her nose, the curves of her jaw and cheeks and forehead; the eloquent lines of her eyebrows, her long black lashes and her vibrant, warm eyes that occasionally lifted to catch the illumination of the fire.

Loki's heart slowed to stillness in his chest.

He had never seen such beauty.

His throat tightened, and for a long time he found it difficult to draw breath.

Beauty that had been scorched, torn open—and almost extinguished from the earth.

Almost.

At last, Jane set her brush down, sat back and picked up her book. Loki tried, but could not glimpse the title. She opened it, flipped a few pages, and settled on one toward the middle. Loki watched the subtle changes in her expression as she read, gingerly turning the pages or biting her lip or furrowing her brow.

Finally, she sighed and shut it—and like a startling spring wind, she smiled.

And looked at him.

Lifted her perfect eyes and looked right at him.

"My mom got me this book," she said, her voice breaking through the silence. She glanced down at the cover. "She left it here, I guess, on accident. I would have liked it when I was little—I know most of the stories, now. Cinderella's my favorite." She reopened the book, and looked down at what Loki could see was an illustration that looked like a large, silver pumpkin.

"My dad read it to me when I was maybe five years old," she said. "And 'Cinderella' has been my favorite girl's name since then. I always thought 'Jane' was so…boring." She shrugged one shoulder, then smiled again at a sudden thought. "Actually, if I ever had a baby girl—wow, I'd have to try really hard during the first few months to think of some _other_ name for her besides that. Because I'd have to, you know? I wouldn't want her to be made fun of at school…" She glanced at him again, her smile fading, and turned to the fire. She hesitated, then became thoughtful. "But…you could always just call her 'Ella,' for everyday…"

"I think it's lovely," Loki said—and the next instant, he was stunned he had spoken.

She looked at him again, considering him, and almost smiled once more.

Then, she took a deep breath and let her eyes drift shut.

"I'm getting a headache," she murmured. "I think I'll go to bed."

Loki cleared his throat, and pried his gaze away from her.

She got up carefully, the skin around her eyes tensing as she put weight on her hurt leg. Stepping carefully, she walked past the end of the couch toward her door. Halfway there, she paused, and looked back at him.

"You know…I've been thinking about all the things you told me earlier. About yourself," she said, her tone entirely different. "And actually…You're not what you think you are."

Startled, Loki turned and regarded her—standing in half-light now, but he could see her every detail.

"Oh?" he managed, raising his eyebrows. "What am I?"

She gazed steadily back at him.

"A prince."

The words thudded against his breastbone. An ache raced through him, hurting the core of his bones.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and disappeared into her room.

Loki stared at the dark doorway, but his stricken eyes rendered nothing. For a very long time he sat utterly motionless, barely breathing.

He forced his eyes shut, his brow furrowing, and tried to turn his head—a strange twisting rippled through him, needling at the edges of his heart.

He got up. The long back of his tunic swished against the couch. He gazed down into the flames in the fireplace; indistinct, flickering glows to his unfocused vision—and took three slow steps forward.

Again, he stood without moving even a hair's-breadth for a great long while, the tiny crackling of the bright light below him fading to the back of his attention. His heart beat in an unfamiliar, frightening pattern—his jaw locked, and he saw nothing.

Shakily, he raised his left hand, and braced his forearm against the mantle. He closed his fingers into a fist.

And in one fell instant, the most bewildering and potent swell of emotion he had ever known completely overpowered him.

It pressed down on his chest like a three-ton stone, weakening his legs and threatening to drive him to his knees. He had no ability to fight it back or even resist—and as it pulled through the very center of his being, submerging him unto drowning, the bitter sweetness stinging the back of his throat made him long for more. His heart raged inside of him, pulsing straight through to every thread of his being—and with every breath he took, it built, smothering him, yet violently drawing his soul upward. The swirling tangle spun through him, turning his knuckles white and constricting his chest until he feared it would break him in half.

And then, like a gust of wind throwing a door open, the bewildering smoke cleared, and cold chills raced across every surface of his skin.

He opened his eyes, hardly remembering closing them. One tear dripped—tumbled down his cheek. It hurt—like ice upon the wind.

Everything within him quieted. And in that silent, clear moment, the sweet and terrible anguish inside him was given a name. A name that moved upon his lips, so breathlessly that only the mantel stone could hear him.

"Jane."

LLLLL

Jane absently frowned, coming up out of the blackness of a restless sleep. Had someone just called her name…?

_BOOM_.

She jolted to a sitting position, her eyes flying open, her heart hammering—

As the reverberations of a mighty slap of thunder rolled right over her head and through the valley.

She grabbed the covers in a vise grip, eyes blindly searching the darkness in front of her as she tried to catch her breath…

And she finally caught the steady drumming of rain on the roof.

She took a deep breath, then another, making herself calm down.

"It's fine," she muttered. "Just a thunderstorm. It's fine—"

_BOOM!_

The whole frame of the house rattled.

She jerked, grimacing, and fought the urge to dive under her covers. The echoes of the thunder rattled into the distance, like the gnashing teeth of an angry giant.

She flung the covers off herself and got up.

Feeling through the blackness, she eventually found her coat and pulled it on, then shuffled to the door and leaned around.

The fire still burned in the fireplace, very low. The couch was empty.

Loki sat in the shadows of the nook on a wooden chair, like a raven on a perch, his arms crossed and his elbows propped on the head of the table.

Thunder smacked the air of the valley again. Tremors ran through the floor under Jane's feet.

"Don't you have some sort of sound-dampening spell up your sleeve somewhere?" she asked.

He turned, surprised—his eyes found her, though she couldn't see much of his face. After a moment, his eyebrow flicked.

"Sound-suppressing spells tend to shimmer," he answered, glancing at the fireplace. "And if they are used in concert with shielding spells or invisibility tents, they tend to explode."

"Oh," Jane straightened. "Well, that wouldn't be good."

He met her eyes again—and this time, something weary and warm entered his expression.

"No, it wouldn't."

_BOOM._

Loki flinched, right along with Jane.

"Oooh, I can't _stand _that," Jane shuddered as she limped forward onto the rug, wrapping her coat tight around her.

"You aren't fond of storms?" Loki ventured. Jane shrugged, then bent down and picked up a candle from the hearth, and the matchbox.

"I don't mind it when I'm below them," she answered. "I just don't like to be _inside _them." She crossed the rest of the floor and set the candle on the table in front of Loki, struck a match and lit it. The little gold flame danced the instant it caught onto the wick, and illuminated the whole of Loki's face. He was looking at her. Listening.

Jane pulled out a chair—it groaned on the wood—and sat down next to him. The candle hovered off to her left.

"When I was ten," Jane began, watching the wax drip down the side of the candle. "Dad took me to the Rocky Mountains in the springtime to watch a meteor shower. We saw it, and it was beautiful. I haven't seen one like that since. There was supposed to be one in Puenta Antiguo a while back, but it got too cloudy, and I couldn't see anything." Jane smiled to herself. "But no, the one I watched with my dad was just…unbelievable." She shifted in her chair, drawing her hurt leg up to her chest and wrapping her arms around it. "But later on that night it clouded up, and the most awful thunderstorm just hit us like…" She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. She halfway laughed. "It scared me to death. I'd never heard thunder so loud and close before. It didn't even rumble. It just—"

_BOOM!_

The thunder cracked like a gun in their ears.

Jane opened her eyes and lowered her shoulders, watching Loki's shoulders reluctantly do the same.

"It did _that_," she finished, and shook her head again. "I didn't sleep all night. Kept having visions of the mountain falling down on me." She sent a bright look up at Loki, whose vivid eyes remained on her face. His glance flickered, and he looked down at the table.

He wasn't going to say anything more.

Jane adjusted in her chair, and watched the candle again as it slowly wove back and forth.

"When I was a boy, I didn't have any feelings one way or the other about them," Loki murmured.

Jane's attention instantly returned to him. He watched his left thumb rub back and forth against an uneven grain in the table, and kept speaking.

"Other children sometimes complained about storms being too loud, or keeping them awake—but I always slept right through them." He raised his eyebrows, and thumped his thumb twice on the wood. "Until the first day my father let Thor handle Mjollnir."

Jane leaned forward just a little, listening to the lilting ebb and flow of his low voice, almost holding her breath so she wouldn't startle him into silence again.

"I came outside to see what all the fuss was about—Mother and Father and Balder were all out on the lawn, standing around Thor and some great ugly hammer sitting on a stone," he went on. "Thor was only half father's size at the time, and I didn't believe for one moment that Thor could even lift that hammer—and I didn't know why anyone would want to, either. So I stayed back by a statue to watch." Loki still studied the movement of his fingers against the tabletop, a frown crossing his face. "Father talked to him for a long while, warning him about the power of the magic within this hammer—I don't think Thor heard a word of it. Because when he _did _pick it up, he didn't wait for anyone to get clear of him—he just hefted it right into the air. And lightning struck."

Jane's eyes went wide. Loki's jaw tightened.

"Right in the middle of the courtyard. Broke all of the flowerpots, shattered the monuments, broke the flagstones, and nearly blinded my mother. My father was able to shield us with half of a spell—but I lost my hearing for two days after."

"Oh, how scary!" Jane breathed. Loki nodded.

"It was. But it was far worse for Thor," Loki said solemnly.

Jane's heart skipped a beat.

"Why?"

"His hair stood on end for a week."

Jane stared at Loki—

He lifted his green eyes to hers—and they sparkled.

Jane choked hard on a shocked laugh—and then an irrepressible giggle fought its way out of her mouth. It rang through the room for just a moment before she slapped her hand over her mouth and stifled it.

But the second she did, a beaming smile crossed Loki's face—delighted and unguarded—and genuinely amused.

"Really?" Jane said through her fingers. "Really, it stood up for a whole—"

"Oh, you cannot put a price on that image, mark my words," Loki said loftily, sitting back in his chair.

Jane burst out laughing.

"I frankly didn't care if I was deaf—to see _that _for seven days following was well worth it," Loki added.

Jane laughed harder, trying to catch her breath, her side aching. He just grinned at her.

She managed to compose herself eventually, swiping tears out of her eyes, giggles still bubbling up inside her.

"Well, it doesn't sound like that hammer would be good for anything very subtle," she remarked, clearing her throat and giving him a wry glance. Loki rolled his eyes.

"Of course it isn't. It's totally without grace—it's just…chaotic. Takes very little study to use and requires no patience at all."

"Unlike that kind of magic, right?" Jane asked, pointing to the fire. He glanced over at it.

"Yes, that is entirely different. Takes centuries to master."

"But can anyone do it?"

He looked at her, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Anyone?"

"Yes," she nodded. "If they studied long enough and hard enough, could anyone learn to do what you did there?"

"No," he shook his head, frowning. She frowned back.

"Why not?"

"Because you're born with it inside you," he answered, as if that were obvious.

"But how can you find out if it's inside you if you don't try it?" Jane countered.

Loki leaned toward her, his brows coming together but his eyes lighting with interest.

"Are you speaking of yourself, Jane Foster?" he asked, intently capturing her gaze.

"Why not?" she asked, lifting her chin. He shook his head once, definitively, half smiling.

"Hopeless."

"What?" she cried. "You don't think I could learn?"

"No," he suddenly chuckled, shaking his head again and sitting back. "No, I actually don't think there's a magical bone in your body."

"I think I'm offended," Jane declared.

"You shouldn't be," he answered, quieting. "Magic requires guile and subtlety and trickery. None of which you possess." He paused a moment, holding her gaze. "Besides, a life without magic is…easier. Simpler."

Jane stilled, studying him in the glimmering light.

"What do you mean?" she wondered.

His lips parted—and he hesitated.

But then, when he spoke, he returned his eyes to the table, and his voice flowed like the undercurrent in a slow-moving river.

"I have always excelled at the use of magic—ever since I could walk. At first, it gained me many friends and admirers, and therefore I was careless with it. Until one day, my tricks caused grave injury to one of my playmates—a little girl. My mother apprenticed me to a healer in hopes that the other parents would forgive my mistake. But they didn't. I was forbidden to play with the other children."

The levity faded from Jane's heart. She listened, her fingers resting on her lips. He went on.

"After a while, I grew too lonely—so I used more magic, this time to disguise myself as another boy, never showing my real face among them. But sooner, rather than later, this scheme was found out. And my friends hated being deceived. So they turned on me." He swallowed, and this time he was quiet for so long that Jane truly thought he was finished.

He took a breath. It sounded strained.

"They began hunting me, like some sort of game bird. No place was safe—not even my own quarters. And many of them had learned enough magic to break the spells I cast to hide myself. I had to protect myself from them." His thumb rubbed against the grain again. "So I learned what it was that each of them feared most. And I became what they feared."

Jane lowered her hand down onto the table. Otherwise, she stayed perfectly still.

"Soon, I didn't even have to use illusions," Loki went on, slowly lifting his eyebrows. "I twisted words into their hearts like some warriors twist daggers. Eventually, I frightened them so much that they left me entirely alone. And ever since then…" his voice quieted. "I have done the same to anyone who truly frightened me." He raised his eyes to hers—open, bright and solemn. "And I never gave a thought to what damage it might do."

Jane swallowed. Her heart pulsed, but she couldn't pull her gaze from his.

She opened her mouth—

**BOOM**.

The glass in the windows sang. The walls shook.

The fire went out.

They plunged into darkness.

Jane leaped to her feet, sending the chair crashing onto the floor. The next instant, Loki's strong hands found her—arms wrapped around her, catching her into a firm hold against his chest.

The door bashed open.

His hands clamped painfully around her shoulders. She stared at the darkened doorway.

Lightning flashed, lighting up the door in eerie white for just an eyeblink.

No one came in.

For several minutes the two of them stood, holding their breath.

A low moan came from outside.

Jane twitched.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"I don't know—" Loki gritted—and she pulled free of him.

"Jane, don't—" he gasped. She took hold of his hand and squeezed hard, and quickly tugged him toward the door. He followed. They rounded the doorframe—

And Loki wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her over the stair, just as she was about to trip over it.

Startled, she regained her balance, glanced back at him—couldn't see him. Scrabbled for his hand again and found it, then turned back to the open door…

Lightning flashed again.

And this time, as clear as day, she saw a figure outside.

A broad-shouldered man, clad in silver, lying facedown in the grass.

A tattered cape sprawled out across him, his long hair lay matted across his face and neck.

A mighty hammer lay beside his limp right hand.

Jane's heart came to a standstill.

It was Thor.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	10. Chapter 10

_It is because of you—all of you in concert—both allowing me to peacefully rest and expressing your eagerness for the next portion, that have encouraged and revived me. You have been polite, cheerful, sent me music to listen to, videos to watch and pictures to enjoy during my holiday. And to those of you who have done all of that, I give this chapter._

_Enjoy._

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER TEN

"_We are not only our brother's keeper._

_In countless large and small ways,_

_We are our brother's maker."_

_-Bonaro Overstreet_

For a moment, Loki stared blindly out into the pitch darkness, his heart racing, his fingers twined tightly through Jane's.

Lightning lanced through the sky. It sent a brief, blinding white flash down across the valley, turning the raindrops into falling nails and the leaves of grass into gleaming knives.

His startled attention stumbled across a fallen figure out in the yard.

His heart flinched—like a hand touching a flame.

And he stared at that form, instantly paralyzed.

Jane pulled out of his hand.

He twitched, eyes going wide, as she darted out into the pelting rain.

The rain, which now began to chatter as it struck the earth. It had turned to ice.

Jane threw herself down beside the man, her hair blowing around her face. She grabbed hold of his shoulder and tried to turn him over. She couldn't.

"Loki!" she called to him—just as the thunder mockingly gnashed its teeth and sent a snap of lightning from north to south.

Loki stood, his whole chest locked in iron, unable to move.

Jane lifted her face—her bright, desperate eyes and sharp expression caught in a twisted flash of light.

"Loki, come help me!" she begged over the roar of the storm, keeping hold of the fallen one's shoulder.

Loki's teeth clamped hard. His left hand flinched toward his middle.

He slid one foot forward. Then the other. And again, and again.

He staggered off the porch, and had to catch himself. Sleet battered against the right side of his face—he grimaced, lifted a hand and lowered his head against it. The ice-encased grass snapped off underneath his boots, crunching loudly. The wind bit at his clothes.

He came nearer, on the opposite side from Jane, and stood over the two of them. He looked down.

At Thor.

Thor, lying prostrate, his head turned toward Loki. His face, hair, cape, armor and hands colorless and coated in ice, his eyes closed.

Jane's shivering hands tugged at Thor's shoulder again, but he didn't stir. Loki glanced at her.

That sharp expression had intensified as she stared at Thor—her fingers closed around his cape. She looked right up at Loki.

"We have to get him inside!"

Loki said nothing. He stood, the ice bombarding his shoulders and the back of his head.

Then, with both hands, Loki reached down, grabbed Thor's left arm, and heaved him up. Jane gasped and fell back. Loki bent over and ducked beneath Thor and stood up, bracing the whole of Thor's great body across his shoulders. He quickly grasped Thor's right arm and right leg in either hand and turned toward the little house, leaving Mjollnir where it lay.

Jane scrambled to her feet and hurried ahead of them, hopped up on the porch and grabbed the swinging front door. She held it open and stepped aside. Grinding his teeth, pain dancing around through his ribs, Loki stepped up onto the porch, ducked very low and got through the door and then up that treacherous step.

Water poured off his clothes and down his face—he shot a glance at the fireplace. The flames leaped up, sending light flaring through the room.

Jane, panting and swiping at her face and wet hair, hastened around the couch and pushed it back, out of the way. The legs ground against the wood floor. Loki, now biting the inside of his cheek, slowly, painfully got down on his knees, bending underneath Thor's weight, and let him slide off his shoulders to tumble onto his back on the rug in front of the fireplace. Thor's head lolled to face the fire—his arms fell limp.

"Is he breathing?" Jane asked, her worried voice muffled by her hand over her lips.

"I don't know," Loki gasped, wiping the rain away from his eyes and mouth. He cleared his throat, adjusted his kneeling position and frowned down at Thor. He felt Jane come up right behind him and watch over his shoulder.

Loki leaned forward and pressed the first two fingers of his left hand against Thor's cold throat. His beard scratched Loki's skin.

A thready pulse thudded three times against his fingertips.

"His heart is beating," Loki said, pulling back and dashing more water away from his forehead.

"What's wrong with him?" Jane wondered, her voice losing strength.

Loki glanced across Thor's body for a moment, then set his jaw and put both hands to the two discs on the upper part of Thor's breastplate.

With two swift twists and one loud click, he unlocked Thor's armor. Orange sparks flew.

Distressed jangling filled the air as the armor weakly tumbled off and disappeared—disorganized, chaotic and feeble. His cape flapped like a bird with broken wings, then vanished. As he watched, Loki's stomach went tight.

Then, he frowned.

Thor was clothed underneath, of course—but his intricately-embroidered red shirt was soaking wet. It should not have been—his armor ought to protect him from rain and ice. His broad chest lifted and fell shallowly, and as Loki's gaze wandered across his form, his confusion mounted…

Until his eyes fell upon a place on the lower left of Thor's belly.

The clothing was stained black. A small cut marred the fabric.

And the shirt was wet with sweat.

Loki reached out with one hand—hesitated.

Jane's knee lightly bumped his back.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Loki bit the inside of his cheek, hard, and gingerly took hold of the lower edge of Thor's damp shirt and peeled it up and back…

"_Ohh…_"

Loki felt Jane's horrified shudder. He fought back one of his own.

A small wound just below Thor's ribs sagged open, and oozed a black, thick, ink-like liquid. Just beneath the surface of his grayish skin, originating at this infected point, poisonous-looking, spidery black veins branched across his stomach, over his ribs and toward his heart.

Loki's hands began to shake.

Jane slowly knelt down on Loki's left side.

"What _is _that?"

"Simple…El…Elemental black magic," Loki said breathlessly, swallowing hard, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Caused by a…a small, hand-held blade tainted with…With Chitauri spells…"

"Poison," Jane clarified.

"It was just a pinprick…" Loki swallowed again and shook his head. "If this had been treated in Asgard, it would have been an effortless fix—two, three minutes' work…"

"But…it festered," Jane murmured.

"Yes," Loki whispered, staring at the dripping laceration, unable to pull his eyes away. He felt Jane turn her head and look at him.

"What can you do?"

His head came around. He gazed back into her warm, intent brown eyes.

His lips parted. His mouth worked for a moment as his mind fumbled.

"I can…I can try to draw it out," he guessed. "Like venom from a snake bite."

"You can do that?" Jane sat up. "Will that work?"

Loki raised his eyebrows, and shook his head once.

"I don't know," he confessed.

Jane watched him fixedly, searching his eyes, her brow furrowing.

"But you'll try."

His gaze traced her features, lingering on the curves of her face, the brilliance of her eyes—that one fleck of emerald.

He nodded.

He turned back, and shifted closer to Thor. Jane got up, and moved around to the other side of Thor, kneeling down and studying Thor's face.

Loki, his mouth hardening, pressed both hands down on either side of the wound. The black poison spilled out across Loki's fingers.

Thor's throat spasmed.

"I doubt you can hold him down," Loki muttered absently, keeping his eyes on his work. "But find a way to calm him."

"Shh," Jane murmured, leaning over Thor and stroking his pale forehead. "Shh. It's all right. It's all right."

Loki glanced up at her.

The firelight illumined her—her shoulders, and the edges of her hair. And the way she touched Thor's brow with those soft, graceful fingers sent a strange, torturous and quiet ache through the center of him, all the way to his backbone. He looked back down.

Setting his teeth, Loki let magic hum crisply between his fingertips. Making small, careful motions like a tailor sewing a delicate seam, he pulled the black poison out, out, out through the wound with his right hand. With his left, he methodically kneaded the skin around the cut, increasing the flow. The skin around the opening began gleaming with fresh, cold sweat. The poison spilled onto Loki's fingers, down Thor's side and onto the carpet, staining it. It also felt cold, and stung Loki's skin—and stank, like the rot of the battlefield.

Absently, he noticed that Jane was watching him work. He didn't look at her. With his left hand, he tucked Thor's shirt up his chest as far as it would go, then pressed his forefinger to the very tip of one of the spidery branches. Pressing down hard on Thor's skin, he pulled his finger back toward the wound, watching as the black vein of poison followed.

"Why don't you just cut the shirt off him?" Jane wondered.

"If I destroy this shirt," Loki answered, concentrating. "He won't be able to summon his armor."

"Oh," Jane breathed, and that was all.

One by one, Loki traced the veins, his neck cramping as he bent over closely, focusing. One of them, about a finger's breadth wide that crossed Thor's stomach horizontally, fought Loki's every effort. He had to keep going back and pressing down harder, pulling and kneading with such temerity that he bruised the skin. When he finally succeeded in drawing the poison halfway back toward the wound, black and greenish puss gushed out over Loki's right hand—it smelled of fresh blood, and it felt hot.

Loki made a face, turned his hand over and spilled the fluid out onto the carpet, then returned his sticky hands to the rest of the vein.

"He's not breathing."

Jane's hurried voice struck his hearing.

It didn't penetrate.

Her words echoed in his head, turning over, sounding to his comprehension like a foreign language.

_He's not breathing_…

Loki blinked.

He looked up.

His attention fell—and narrowed—upon Thor's wide chest.

Waited.

Waited.

The mighty chest lay motionless.

The universe stopped.

Loki's heart began fluttering like a bird's—his eyes went wide, and flashed across every surface and angle of Thor's still, lion-like face.

A boy's laugh resounded from a great distance—so far away in the back of Loki's mind, it seemed to have crossed eons and galaxies to reach him…

The firm grip of a hand on his thin arm—a brilliant, reassuring smile after a spinning crash down a flight of stairs…

A battle in a cavern—the floor falling away—Loki throwing himself down on that rocky floor, sliding to the bitter edge and lashing out to grab something, _anything_—

Feeling his wrist slapped and grasped hard as _he _held on—held _on_, not falling to his death—holding on to Loki, and though everything else had tumbled into the black abyss, Loki would not let _him _fall…

Loki's poison-covered fingers, feeling detached from his brain, spread apart.

Jane clapped a hand over her mouth. Loki sucked in a breath that shot pain through every extremity.

"No—no, no, no, no," he muttered rapidly, hardly making a sound. And suddenly, unreasoning rage boiled up within him, blinding him.

"Don't you…Don't you _dare_, you _coward,_" he snarled, shoving Thor's shirt even further out of the way, sitting up and pressing both of his hands down over the center of Thor's chest. Loki pumped downward sharply three times, feeling Thor's ribcage flex—but his heart did not answer. His head moved lifelessly.

"Don't you have any honor?" Loki hissed savagely, pumping with more force. "No resolve? You're just going to…to _lie_ here and _die _like an old woman, in mess and filth without _fighting it?" _He stopped and shoved his fingers against Thor's jugular.

Nothing.

Loki roared at him.

"_Blast _you, you _worthless_ piece of-!"

"Loki—" Jane choked. He ignored her.

"You cannot do this," Loki protested hoarsely. "You cannot—you _cannot—" _He took hold of Thor's throat with one hand and a fistful of magic with the other and sent a flashing ball of it careening into Thor's breastbone.

Thor's body thrashed—but it stayed hollow. His throat made no movement.

Loki's breathing tore him. He bent forward and roughly kneaded Thor's chest again.

"Selfish pig," he seethed, blinking hard to try and clear his vision. "Selfish, arrogant pig—"

He blinked again—still couldn't see.

And out of nowhere, he realized why.

Tears.

Tears were running down his face.

He was crying.

Loki's whole body went weak.

"No," he cried softly, his brow twisting as he strangled. "No, you cannot do this—"

"Loki…" Jane whispered gently—brokenly.

The universe drew to a stop once more.

Loki's eyes unfocused. He saw nothing.

A black chasm of nothing.

And then…

A speck of glimmering violet light.

He came back to himself.

His breathing rattled loudly in his ears.

He stretched out his left hand—

And snapped his fingers.

A flash of light—

And a small, oval, eggshell-delicate stone sat within the hollow of his palm. A stone that glittered with the depth of the galaxies—infinite and silent.

For one long moment, he gazed at it as it sparkled in the light, feeling a pang of regret that cut him sideways.

Then, he closed his fingers and crushed it.

Its eggshell surface shattered.

Power blasted through the room—blinding light and screaming wind.

A crackling roar battered the room.

Loki pressed the throbbing power and shattered pieces onto Thor's chest, grinding them in through his skin. They penetrated. The inside of Thor's entire ribcage glowed.

And a shaft of light shot up—a beacon to the heavens, to the stars.

The light vanished with a snap.

Jane had fallen back toward the fireplace—she lay still, eyes wide. Loki leaned over Thor, his hands still pressed to his chest.

_Thud_.

Loki jerked.

A resounding pulse had struck his palms.

Then—

Thor's blue eyes flashed open.

Loki's heart nearly ruptured.

Thor gasped a wrenching breath and sat up—

Loki grabbed Thor, binding his arms around his burning shoulders and twisting his fingers hard through his long, matted hair. Loki started shivering violently. Thor's mighty heart hammered against Loki's.

"You worthless brute," Loki muttered through trembling lips. He pressed the side of his face to Thor's and squeezed his eyes shut as tears tumbled down. "Curse you."

A quivering Thor didn't answer. He just weakly wrapped his right arm around Loki, rested his chin on his brother's shoulder, and let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

LLLLL

Jane couldn't tell how long they sat there before someone moved. Loki held onto Thor with a death grip—his knuckles shone white underneath the coat of blood and poison as he grasped Thor's hair and shirt. His tear-filled emerald eyes saw nothing. Thor's chin sat on Loki's shoulder, and he blinked slowly, his eyebrows drawn tightly together, his jaw clenched. As Jane sat there, frozen and gazing at them, she was reminded alternately of two little boys who had just found each other after getting lost in the dark, and two boxers clutching each other for rest between punches.

Loki let out a watery gasp.

Jane blinked and sat up.

Loki pulled back from Thor—their eyes met.

Loki ducked his head away and swallowed, then swiped at his face with his left hand—but his right hand stayed clenched around a handful of Thor's sleeve. Thor just watched him, weary but intently focused. Jane shifted, and wrapped her wet arms around herself.

Thor's head turned. He looked at her.

"Jane Foster," he said, his rough voice low, and quietly surprised.

Loki's head came around, and he looked at her too—she met his gaze for an instant before returning to Thor.

"How…How do you feel?" she managed.

"Half dead," he answered. Loki cleared his throat and looked at the ground. Thor smiled crookedly, and his eyes lightened.

"Which is quite an improvement."

"I'll go get towels," Jane decided, getting to her feet and heading toward the bathroom. She made herself walk steadily, even though her legs felt like rubber, her stomach watery. She had to blink several more times to completely banish that dazzling flash from a couple minutes ago. She went into the bathroom, pushed the door half shut…

Then staggered forward, grabbed the cold sink and closed her eyes. Her whole body shook—she made herself take deep breaths, deep breaths…

Finally, when her muscles had regained a little stability, she was able to lift her head, risk glance at her ashen, soaked reflection in the mirror, and grab three thick, soft towels out of the cabinet. The first, she dabbed against her own face and hair, then wrapped around her shoulders. She took the other two in her arms and headed back out to the sitting room.

The fire still burned high. Loki and Thor had changed their positions. Thor still sat on the rug, but leaned back against the armchair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands limp in his lap. Loki sat across from him, leaning sideways against the stones of the mantel where Jane had sat the other night, his right leg bent and tucked under his left, his arms folded. The two men stared at each other, saying nothing. Both looked very pale.

"Here, Thor," Jane said, stepping up to him and handing him one of the towels.

"Thank you," he answered, glancing at her and taking it. He weakly unfolded it and rubbed his face and head, sighing as he did.

"Here," Jane said, her voice losing volume as she offered one to Loki. He lifted his face and met her gaze—held it—then reached up and took it from her.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Jane swallowed, something behind her heart tightening.

She shook herself, turned and looked down at the floor. But she couldn't sit there. It was covered in a mess of water and black poison. She stepped back, wrapped her towel tighter around herself, and curled up on the couch.

And then she realized that Thor had been watching that entire exchange. Thor, dark circles under his eyes, regarded her thoughtfully.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"That is a better question for _you_," Loki cut in, unmoving. Thor turned back to him.

"I came to rescue you," he said hoarsely.

Jane blinked.

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"Rescue _me?"_

"Yes," Thor said.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Loki said flatly.

"It is true," Thor insisted, swallowing dryly but giving him a hard look. "A great deal has happened since you fled."

"Oh, do tell," Loki said caustically.

Jane shifted uncomfortably, her stomach tensing. Loki seemed to sense her—he didn't look at her, but his sharpness dulled to sullenness. He left the towel in his lap. The two men's gazes locked.

"After you left, SHIELD sent out an alert—a search for Jane," Thor said. "They seemed certain you would make demands, and that you would harm her if your demands were not met."

Loki's jaw worked and his eyes narrowed. He said nothing.

"I didn't know what you were planning," Thor confessed. "But I _did_ know that I did not agree with SHIELD'sstrategy."

"What was it?" Jane asked. Thor turned to her.

"Fury wanted to lure Loki out into the open by agreeing to his demands, then get you to safety. Then they planned to kill him."

Loki's mouth hardened to a line, and he glanced down at the floor.

"What?" Jane cried. "_Kill _him? Without a trial or…anything?"

"It did not surprise me," Thor said darkly. "When Loki was being held on the flying ship, Fury looked me in the face and asked me if I would be willing to beat information out of him."

Jane stared at him.

"But he's your brother," she whispered.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loki swallow.

"Yes," Thor murmured softly. "It was then that I began to suspect that, while Fury is a brilliant warrior, he does not understand the concept of honor." Thor glanced at Loki. Loki looked back at him. Loki's edge softened minutely.

"What happened then?" Loki asked, his voice still hard.

"All of us—the Captain, Barton, Natasha, Erik Selvig, Tony Stark, Banner, Fury and Agent Hill—held council in the top of Stark tower, arguing about how to proceed once you were found. It lasted several days," Thor went on. His right hand closed around the towel. "But then I began feeling strange. Ill. The wound you gave me hurt more than it should have."

Shock flashed through Jane. Her lips parted, but the two men just exchanged a look, and Thor went on.

"I mentioned that I did not feel well. And the SHIELD agents immediately began advising me to come with them so they could 'run tests.'"

Loki snorted, a smirk crossing his face as he glanced into the fire.

"I told them I would not allow it," Thor said firmly, glancing back and forth between Loki and Jane. "I also told them I would not allow them to kill my brother, especially in such an underhanded fashion." He paused, and swallowed. "We were still arguing about it when the attack came."

Loki's entire bearing changed. He instantly turned to Thor, vivid eyes blazing.

"What attack?" he asked, his tone low.

Thor took a deep breath.

"The Chitauri."

"What? How?" Jane demanded. "Didn't you close the portal?"

"We did," Thor nodded. "They came from below. Natasha warned us what was about to happen—we would not have survived otherwise. She did not have long to explain, but she confessed that she had been on a mission for one of SHIELD's greatest enemies, and privy to his plot—a plot to build a bifrost and use an army of a race called the Skrulls to conquer all the realms. But she said that now that Barton was in harm's way because of this enemy, she would forgo that alliance in favor of ours. Her warning gave us the few minutes we needed to prepare before they were upon us."

Loki had gone still as ice. Thor, looking paler than before, kept talking.

"Legions of Chitauri—as well as the army of Skrulls—came at us from everywhere. We never could track their origin. We were completely baffled. They seemed to be coming up through the ground." Thor adjusted the way he was sitting, wincing as he did. His hands closed tighter around the towel. "All of our stamina was already spent, but we were forced to keep fighting. Barton, Natasha, Fury, Erik Selvig and Hill managed to take the tesseract down from the tower and move it somewhere else, without the Chitauri or the Skrulls following them. They used decoy vehicles and smoke screens, and the Captain, Stark, Banner and I caused a distraction. But the battle continued." Thor took another deep breath. "And it was in the midst of the battle that I had a vision."

Jane watched him—but Thor acted like she wasn't in the room. So did Loki. The men watched each other.

"What did you see?" Loki asked.

"You," Thor said simply, quietly. "You, sitting in the darkness. You were in great pain. Bleeding. And you called my name."

Loki lost all his color.

Thor shrugged.

"So I came," he said. His eyebrows drew together, and he almost smiled. "And then you had to save _me." _

For a long time, everyone was silent. Jane held her breath.

"So…" Loki ventured. "What now?"

"We will go home," Thor stated. "You and I will take the tesseract and return to Asgard, where it will be safe."

"You can't."

The words fell out of Jane's mouth—but the next instant, she knew, suddenly, that it was time to say them. Both men immediately turned to her, frowning.

"What?" Loki said.

"Why not?" Thor wondered.

Jane took a deep breath. It was anything but steady. She tried not to look at him, but Loki's gaze pulled at her until she had to meet it.

"Because I lied to you."

His eyes flickered.

"What do you mean?"

Jane shifted, feeling like something was hurting her insides, but made herself go on.

"I wasn't working at Stark Tower. Pepper Potts never called me, and I didn't talk to Nick Fury about his plans for you," she admitted. "I came because…" She paused, and carefully measured her words. "Some new research results had just come to light."

The two men listened, utterly still. Jane went on.

"Apparently, any…Any realm-to-realm travel done without a _bifrost_ causes tremendous damage to the fabric of space-time. And recently, because of all the…chaos…" She steadied herself. "Several places in that fabric have been pulled to threadbare. If…If the Cube is used just _one _more time," she glanced back and forth between the two. "Thor, if you had found Loki and used the Cube to travel to Asgard…"

"We would be dead," Loki murmured.

"Yeah," Jane breathed. "Or…I'm actually not sure what would happen."

Loki held her gaze. She watched the firelight flicker against his green eyes. His expression was unreadable—she couldn't look away.

"So…it was a trick," Thor realized. "You meant for Loki to take you hostage and escape, so that I would not use the Cube again."

"I did," Jane said quietly, still looking back at Loki.

Loki turned away.

Pain darted through her chest.

"So what can be done?" Thor pressed.

"I…" Jane's brow furrowed, her mind groping. "Scientists—_good _scientists—can start working on a way to stabilize everything. Experimenting. As long as no one tries to use the Cube to go anywhere, it should be okay."

"We cannot promise that," Thor growled. "War is still being fought in your city of New York, and beyond that. If the Chitauri and the Skrulls take hold of the tesseract…" He let it hang.

Loki stayed where he was, half turned toward the fire, seeing nothing. And a great heaviness seemed to settle down over his whole frame. Jane swallowed.

"I'm sorry," she tried. Loki didn't move. Thor attended to her.

"For what?"

She glanced at him, but looked back at Loki.

"I don't like to lie," she said. "But I just…I didn't think anyone was really in the mood to listen to me…at the moment."

"You did what you thought was necessary," Loki whispered, staring at the flames.

Jane felt shaken. She sensed Thor glance back and forth between the two of them—but the dark image of Loki seated by the fire, half in shadow, half in light, burned into her mind. And the weight of his silence suddenly hurt her.

"I'm tired," she said, fighting back startling tears. "I'm going to bed." She slid her legs off the couch and got up, and before either of them could say anything, she had gone into her room and shut the door behind her.

LLLLL

Loki's head came up when Jane got up from the couch—he stared at her as she turned and walked hurriedly into her chamber. She vanished inside, and the door clicked shut. Her absence filled the room.

"She is not your prisoner, is she?" Thor said in a deliberate voice, forming a statement rather than a question. Loki turned back toward him. His brother was giving him a subdued, but knowing, look.

"Are you hers?" Thor pressed.

Loki ground his teeth, put the towel aside and folded his arms again. Thor watched him carefully.

"Does she know of the people you have killed?" he asked, growing very serious. "Of what you did to Agent Coulson?"

Loki blinked, then frowned at him.

"Who?"

"The man you stabbed through the heart before you let me fall from the flying ship," Thor snapped back. "How could you not remember?"

"Tell me…_Thor_," Loki spat, lifting his chin. "What was the name of the first Frost Giant you killed in Jotunheim?"

Thor stopped.

"I…don't know," he confessed. Loki cocked his head.

"And what was he doing when you killed him?" he asked. "Was he pointing a deadly weapon at your face? Threatening your life?"

Thor said nothing. Loki scowled at him.

"Judge your own actions before mine. Especially when you do not have the faintest ideawhat I have been through."

"What have you been through?" Thor asked, quieter this time. He leaned toward Loki. "Tell me. What happened to you?"

Loki met his blue eyes again—blue eyes, open and earnest. Waiting.

For a long time, Loki couldn't summon up the breath to make a sound. A tight twisting knotted inside his chest. He closed his fists so Thor couldn't see.

"I fell," he said, his voice rocky. "I fell so far and so fast that I lost all sense of time and direction. I couldn't breathe and I could not see. Finally, when the storm cleared, I landed with so much force I thought I'd broken my back." Loki paused, swallowed—and memories rose up in front of him. He made himself go on. "When I was finally able to stand, I saw that I was in a land of black, jagged rock, lit by two white moons that rose and set. It was a place of deep shadows, sharp edges—and total silence. Somehow, I could breathe there, though I didn't know how. I could see no atmosphere or shielding—nothing. I wandered for a long time, searching for a settlement, a beacon. A door. And I waited for the sun. But it never came." Loki looked at Thor. His lips trembled for a moment. "Then I begged for it," he went on. "But still, it…" He swallowed, and shook his head. "Then I despised and hated it for never appearing." His voice lowered. "Just as I despised and hated _you_ for never coming to find me, even though I screamed your name until I lost my voice."

Thor's brow twisted.

"I couldn't hear you," he rasped.

Loki looked away.

"I took no food or water for months," Loki went on, keeping his voice even. "And all at once, all my old wounds re-opened. Every single one that I had ever suffered in battle—I bled from every surface of my skin. So I lay down to die." Loki lowered to a whisper. His eyes absently widened. "Then he found me. A tall, terrible shadow."

Thor leaned forward even more. Loki could see nothing but darkness.

"Thanos," Loki hissed. "His name is Thanos. He is the Lord of Devastation—he courts Death, trying to win her favor by causing as much slaughter as possible, in the most artful ways. And he commanded his minions, the Chitauri, take me up and carry me down, beneath the surface, to a vast weapons factory. It's filled with smoke and darkness and stench, and loud, mechanical cacophony. Slaves from hundreds of worlds carry loads and weld seams and stumble their way through the lines. They fed me and stopped my bleeding—then put me to work. Once or twice, I raised my hand to the warden, but I was weak and he struck me to the floor without much effort." Loki half smiled, feeling sick. "But that humiliation was nothing compared to the beatings that followed." His expression darkened. "Then, somehow, Thanos discovered who I was. He brought me into a room alone, and asked me to become his personal servant." Loki's jaw tightened. "I refused."

Loki's heart grew quiet. Thor only listened.

"So Thanos locked me in a cell in the furthest part of the prison, alone. Not a stitch of light penetrated that room. I nearly went mad." Loki took a slow breath. "Then, when I had exhausted myself and bloodied my hands trying to claw my way out through the floor, I heard a sound coming from the cell next to me," Loki said faintly. "Another inmate, through a crack, was _singing _to me. I still remember the words:

'_Skies of marble, hard as stone_

_Snow flies not on barren moor_

_Wind moans in a thunder voice_

_The quicksilver prince is lost.'" _

Loki blinked slowly, trying to keep his voice working.

"I spoke to him. And I lowered myself onto the filthy floor and pressed the side of my face to that icy wall with all my strength, so I could hear the sound of his voice answering me. He told me that the air was poisonous—that it weakens even the mightiest beings. I begged him to tell me how he had come to be there. He told me that he was a king." Loki smiled weakly. "His world had been shaken and shattered by war. Thanos came and offered his help. The king refused. But just recently, the kingdom had reached the unbearable, and called to him. Thanos stopped the shivering in the heart of the realm— but he took the king as payment. Thanos worked him to near death in the factory, and when his body broke, he had imprisoned him in solitary. This king told me he would die soon— and so would I." Loki's voice hardened. "But I swore I would get out. And I promised to come back and set him free." Loki turned, and stared into the fire. "It was with this in mind that I met Thanos when he came to me again. And this time, I told him I would do whatever he asked." Loki shrugged one shoulder, and waved his hand slightly. "He released me. And he took me with him. He taught me, showed me his methods of destruction on more worlds than I can count. He revealed to me that he wanted the Chitauri to have the tesseract for a time, because they would wreak havoc with it. Then, he introduced me to The Other. A blind Seer—who became Thanos' mouthpiece. I rarely saw Thanos after that. Through The Other, Thanos made it clear that I was to inherit _Midgard_ if the Chitauri obtained the tesseract." Loki drew his knee up, and rested his elbow on it.

"When they thought I was ready, they handed me the Staff. It was powerful—mysterious. Even I didn't understand it. The Other taught me to conjure new armor. I knew then that I had been officially raised in the eyes of the Chitauri and all the rest from prisoner to prince. To show this exaltation, The Other had me walk with him through the factory where I had been enslaved. We happened to pass the cell where I had been held—the dark, lonely one. But the cell next to mine was empty. I asked about it."

Loki suddenly couldn't talk. His throat closed.

"The Other told me," he finally said hoarsely, staring down at his hands. "That they had told the imprisoned king that he was free to go home and rule his realm. Then they had taken him out…and cut off his head." Loki's voice lowered to a whisper. "'Why not?' he said. 'He was only a Frost Giant.'"

The depth of Thor's gaze penetrated Loki—he could not stand to meet it.

"In that moment," Loki said, closing his fists again. "I knew I could not bear to see the tesseract in the hands of those…" He stopped, and took a breath. "But I kept that to myself, and bided my time. And when I saw Midgard again…" He raised his eyebrows, remembering that stunned, awed sensation sweeping through him. "I adored it. I _wanted _it." He looked up at Thor. "It was so bright and green and soft. Thanos wanted to create chaos and destruction, but after living up to my knees in that for…I just…I couldn't. I wanted…I wanted _order_. Simplicity," he said sincerely. "I saw all the cities and the Midgardians operating in disorder and noise. I planned to conquer it, and lay out a new infrastructure of excellence, beauty and efficiency. And in my deepest heart, I…I _never_ planned to give the Chitauri the tesseract," he shook his head at Thor. "I planned to _keep _it, to protect myself and to elevate my kingdom to a glory that would rival Asgard." Loki lowered his head. "_But…_" he murmured. "Every time I used that staff—from the first time onward—I began to feel myself slipping." His left hand worked aimlessly. "My mind felt…unsteady. So did my body. And sometimes, a blinding, senseless anger would overtake me—it felt so foreign, so much like _madness_ that when it passed I could only stand in a corner, alone, and try to gather the pieces of myself again." He paused. "I stopped thinking clearly. And I felt _him_. _Him_, always in the back of my mind—as present as my own shadow, but like a poison inside my body. And when I came to realize that I was _not _free—that I never _would _be free as long as the tesseract was vulnerable…there was only one thing I could do." Loki met Thor's eyes. "I had to lose."

Thor blinked—then frowned. Loki nodded.

"I had to lose. And _you _would have to take hold of the tesseract, and take me home with it—and the both of us would be safe. In Asgard."

"But that cannot happen," Thor reminded him. "I cannot take you or the tesseract to safety. Not if what Jane says is true."

Loki's leaden heart became even heavier.

"I know," he murmured. Thor's expression sharpened. Loki gazed into the fire. Then, he slowly got his legs under him, and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Thor demanded.

"The shielding spell is dying," Loki answered. "I need to go outside and check the flaws before I cast another one."

He stepped around the poison on the floor, and started toward the entrance. His boot creaked on a floorboard.

"You're not leaving."

Loki stopped. He heard the command in his brother's voice—but also a low plea. He glanced over his shoulder at him.

Thor sat, pale and weary, his eyes even brighter for his illness—watching Loki fixedly, his expression tight. Loki mustered a half smile.

"Not yet," he said. And he pulled the door open, and stepped out into the frost.

LLLLL

Jane stood with her back against her bedroom door, as motionless as she had been for the past several minutes.

She had heard every syllable. Every word the brothers had spoken had sunk down through her, settling around her heart, pressing against her breastbone.

She did not cover her face with her hand, and she did not make any sound.

But as she stood, completely still, hot, heavy tears dripped from her eyes, and trailed like raindrops down her cheeks.

_To be continued…_

_Review, dear friends!_


	11. Chapter 11

_I love you all. You know that, right? _

_For the SECOND section, I listened to the Fellowship of the Rings soundtrack "Gandalf's Fall" followed by "Lament for Gandalf."_

_Please enjoy:)_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jane turned onto her side, and kicked off her covers. She shivered, wrapping her arms tight to herself, dull tears still running down her face. She blinked slowly. Burning chills raced over her skin, and her stomach and chest tightened in painful, stiffening spasms.

Finally, she sat up, gasping, and wiped the tears off her face. She got up, and wrapped her coat over her pajamas fumbling hands. She stepped to the door and pulled it open, and looked out into the room.

The fire had lost much of its life—it flickered low, sputtering, sending settled, listless illumination through the nearest part of the room. Thor lay on his back parallel to the couch, on a clean portion of the rug, covered in a quilt he'd gotten from the couch—he was too big to lie _on _the couch.

Otherwise, the room was empty.

Jane stopped. Her throat shut.

She searched the dark corners, but _he_ didn't inhabit any of them. Biting her lip and trying not to tremble, she stepped out into the living room. When she got closer to him, Thor frowned, then blinked his eyes open. He sighed when he saw her, and gave her part of a smile.

"Hello, Jane," he said, his deep voice breaking with disuse.

"Where's Loki?"

She hadn't meant to ask that—she had meant to ask how Thor was feeling.

She stopped, startled at herself.

"Erm…" Thor grunted, turning his head and glancing toward the door. "He left some time ago. He said he needed to check the flaws in the shielding spell before he cast another one." Thor let out a deep breath, and resettled his head on the folded-up towel. He focused on her. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine," Jane answered quickly—and suddenly realized that she was being far more deceitful saying _that _than she had been saying anything else. Avoiding his gaze, she edged past Thor's feet and sat down on the couch, tucking her legs up under her again.

"You look well," Thor commented, still watching her. She swallowed, and forced a small smile for him.

"Thank you."

Thor paused. A thoughtful air settled over him.

"He has taken care of you, hasn't he?" he said slowly. "Protected you?"

Jane swallowed again, and looked up at the fire.

"Mhm," she nodded, not trusting herself to actually say words. Thor closed his eyes.

"I knew he would," Thor stated tiredly. "When Nick Fury announced to everyone that Loki would try to harm you, I told him that was nonsense."

A tear trickled down Jane's face. Her eyes unfocused—the firelight became a blur.

"I could tell by the way he took hold of you, when I first saw you again in Stark Tower," Thor went on, his voice weary. "He treated you carefully—as he only does when he touches something of value."

Jane swiped at her cheek. Then, desperately trying to keep him from seeing her face, she lay down on her side toward the fire, curling up even tighter.

"I was _glad _you were not nearby when the Chitauri and the Skrulls came again," Thor confessed. His tone softened. "My only fear was that _you _would be afraid of my brother. Afraid that he might strike you—or kill you." Thor paused. He shifted toward her. "You are not, are you?"

Jane sucked in a watery breath, and shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

She was trying to stay calm. But her voice shook too much.

"Jane," Thor said purposefully. "Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes," Jane squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes, I'm fine."

Thor didn't answer. Instead, he reached up and found her right hand with his. She let him take it. He pulled her hand off the couch and let his elbow rest on the floor, keeping gentle hold of her fingers. Jane brushed helplessly at her face again with her other hand, realizing he didn't believe her—but that was okay. His hand felt warm and solid—an anchor that kept her whole chest from tearing apart.

Thor heaved a sigh, and stopped talking. He was probably _so _tired, and still feeling sick…

It was warmer out here. The fire crackled soothingly. And this couch was more comfortable than her bed. Jane let her eyes drift shut—but her forehead tightened as she listened, _listened_ for the latch to click, for the door to open, for a draft of cold air, for the sound of footsteps on the wood…

LLLLL

Loki stood in the front yard, in the exact place he had for an hour. He had stepped outside, pausing to close his eyes and take a deep breath of the frosty air, then walked slowly out from under the overhang, lifting his face to the sky. He had stopped in the center of the open space, his hands lowering to his sides. He had not checked the perimeter of the house. He had not renewed the invisibility spell.

It didn't matter now.

His gaze drifted, his face tilted upward, his mind silent. He was looking at the stars.

The rain and sleet had extinguished the raging forest fire down below, leaving the distant wood dark and silent. The storm clouds overhead had cleared—dissipated completely, leaving the sky open, vast, broad and cold. White pinpricks of light twinkled down on him.

So far away.

All his bones sat heavy within him. He breathed slowly, evenly. His heart beat at a steady pace. He felt each deep, weighted pulse through his whole body.

There was no moon out tonight. He was grateful—it made the stars so much easier to see. He lingered on each one, tucking the memory of each glittering speck of light deep down inside him.

The chilly air around him hung still. And he stood, solitary, in the midst of the icy field. He lowered his head. He glanced back at the glowing window of the house.

One more thing.

He turned, and passed silently back to the porch, up the step, and bid the door open without a sound. He stepped inside. Warmth met him. He made no noise as he walked toward the breakfast table, and glanced toward the sitting space.

He stopped.

Jane lay asleep on the couch, curled up. He could see her face, her slender form, in the dying firelight. Thor lay on his back on the floor, also sleeping. And their hands were intertwined—naturally, gently, keeping hold even in slumber.

Loki stared, fixed. Only the fire stirred or made a sound.

His eyes closed. He put his hand out and gripped the back of a chair. His head bowed. And for an age, he did not move.

A branch in the fire snapped. Loki opened his eyes. He raised his head.

With soundless, painful effort, he strode behind the couch, and stood at Jane's feet.

Minutes ticked by as he gazed at her. The firelight caressed her face, her hair, shoulders and hands, easing the tension from her appearance, softening her beauty.

An almost imperceptible shudder ran through Loki's core—his throat closed.

He forced his mouth open and took a deep breath…

But the deep sigh that followed amplified the ache in all his limbs.

And it drove his mind to recklessness.

His left foot moved toward her, one inch. Trembling raced through him and his eyes went wide. His fingers closed to fists. For a moment, he balanced on the edge.

A shadow crossed his mind.

He blinked.

He lifted his head, and looked at the door.

His frame settled. His hands loosened.

His mouth closed—he set his jaw. And a sensation of liquid lead sank down through the whole of him.

He drew himself up.

He stepped forward, carefully setting foot at a time between Thor's legs and the couch. He paused by Thor's hip, and turned his eyes downward to his noble, golden face. For a long while, Loki did not stir his attention from there.

Thor rested peacefully. No line of worry or pain marked his brow. And Loki could see healthy color returning to his skin. He would live.

"Goodbye, _bróðir," _he said, his voice soft. And his throat closed again.

He slowly turned.

And looked for the last time upon Jane.

She slept, breathing gently. She looked tired—her eyebrows were drawn together slightly. Loki's attention flickered to her hand, clasped in Thor's, then returned to her face. His own eyebrows raised, came together—and suddenly he found it very difficult to speak.

"Goodbye_,_" he whispered. "_Fjellfiolett." _

He swallowed hard, his left hand aching to…

He closed his fingers, and straightened. It was too late for that.

"Goodbye," he said again.

He stepped over their clasped hands, careful not to brush either of them in his passing. Like a ghost, he moved to the door, and stood before it. He felt each breath he took, each heartbeat.

He longed to look back. Just one more time.

He didn't.

He gritted his teeth, and opened the door.

He stepped out, and pulled it shut behind him. And he lifted his face toward the hooded figure standing in the field of ice.

Loki strode forward, his expression dark and closed. His boots crunched on the grass. He stepped out into the starlight, and stopped. The scarlet cowl dipped—the figure inclined his head.

"Loki Laufeyson," a low voice hissed. "You have given up your flight."

Loki did not answer. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark hood.

"Perhaps you knew we would find you." The figure's head tilted to one side as he brought his hands up and interlaced his many fingers. "Regardless of the rips in the fabric."

Loki's eyebrow lifted—minutely.

"Ah, yes—we know of the damage that has been done," the other one nodded. "Did you think we would not come to you because of it?"

"Then how did you come?" Loki asked. "The portal is closed."

"There are many ways to achieve the same end," The Other said, grinning. His sharp teeth gleamed. "_He _laid the plans, of course—and how little you knew of them."

Loki's jaw tightened. He stayed quiet. The Other snapped his teeth, and took a step toward him.

"He gave you a small taste of power, to study how you conducted yourself, and He sent you to Midgard burdened with purpose. But you disappointed Him. Your vision remained so limited." The Other took one more step closer. Loki stayed where he was.

"You did not believe _that _was our great and mighty Chitauri force, did you?" The Other's voice slithered. "That _single _legion, which could not occupy that _city, _let alone an entire realm?" The Other smirked. "No. Look broader, son of Laufey! He _planned_ to let you fail—fail _first, _then raise you to highest glory. He would have allowed that little Midgardian band to regain the tesseract—allowed the son of Odin to take you back to Asgard. Then, _He _would have had an ally within the golden halls—and then, He would have bestowed upon you the realm you have always coveted."

"But if he had allowed that," Loki countered. "Thor would have used the tesseract to travel, and it would have ripped the universe lengthwise."

"Very astute, little prince," The Other mocked. "And as short-sighted as ever. You misunderstand your master's nature as much as you ever did."

Loki stayed still.

"Yours was not the only purpose being woven," The Other went on. "A man from Midgard once traveled through the stars by tesseract, and we led him to the realm of the Skrulls. We let him believe they were his allies. He returned to Midgard with an army of them. And here, this man encountered a sorcerer who possessed the knowledge to help build a bridge of their own. And so they did, harboring an ambition to obtain the tesseract, then conquer Midgard, then Asgard, then all the others." The Other smiled. "Don't you see? _All_ possible following paths would lead to pleasing ends, for Him." His voice grew hard, scornful. "If _you_ had somehow managed to subdue Midgard, even with that feeble force, your body and soul would have torn in half the moment you laid a hand on that tesseract with only your own will to temper it. Your treacherous plans to keep it to yourself would have instantly failed."

Loki said nothing.

"On the other hand," The Other continued. "If _Odinson_ had managed to capture you and the tesseract and attempted to take you back to Asgard in that manner, the universe would have split, bringing the deaths of untold billions on untold planes of existence—which would be like honey on his tongue." The Other rubbed one thumb against the other. "Or, if the man and the sorcerer unleashed their force and obtained the tesseract, they would have attacked Asgard and made it vulnerable—open to His influence. If not, perhaps they would take a few lives on their way to defeat. And if they _had _been defeated, Odinson would have used their bifrost to take you and the tesseract back to Asgard—and thus, _He_ would have been able to give the realm to you, with the ease of a handshake."

The Other fell silent. Loki held his blind gaze. Neither of them moved. The Other's voice turned deadly.

"But you failed Him," he hissed. "In every respect. You ran, like a _coward_. You abandoned the tesseract, your duty, and your solemn oaths. The portal closed. The Midgardians and the son of Odin regained the tesseract." He took another step toward Loki. "But you must not believe that you have kept it from us."

Loki's eyes narrowed. The Other bared his teeth.

"All you have managed to do is lose the throne of Asgard."

Loki bit the inside of his cheek.

"The man and the sorcerer completed the bifrost," The Other said. "And we traveled through it. We killed this frail man and the witless sorcerer, and renewed our alliance with the Skrull force they had claimed. We attacked the broken city with full vigor—and it is only a matter of time before we reclaim the tesseract. The strength of the mortal band of hired warriors has worn threadbare. They cannot withstand us much longer. And you…" The Other seethed. "We simply followed your brother."

Loki blinked.

"Yes," The Other grinned. "We knew you would try to contact him—we knew how _painful _your wounds would be." He sneered. "And so we pursued him, hurling fury down upon him as he traveled. We burned the forest in the valley. We sent the thunder and the lightning and the raining ice in an attempt to drive you out into the open. Your spells muddied our senses for a time…But in the end, you gave yourself away so neatly, a blind man could have found you."

Loki kept his jaw locked.

"You have incurred His particular vengeance," The Other told him. "A difficult thing, for he is patient. But He is insulted by your disregard for His favor." The Other took one more step, leaning his head toward Loki, gnashing his teeth. "You will be punished. And your punishment shall be compounded by the knowledge that _you _have caused this realm, this realm you love, to perish in flame and plague…" The Other pointed behind Loki. "…beginning with _that house_."

Loki did not move. He half smiled.

"Do not underestimate me," Loki warned. "I will not come quietly."

The Other's expression flickered with amusement.

"What do you plan, son of Laufey?"

"I plan to kill you," Loki bit out. "I have no doubt it will be the last thing I do, but I will tear down these mountains and _bury _you in the rubble until not even _He _can find you." He paused. He took a breath. "But I will not raise a finger to you—and you may take me and do with me as you wish—if you vow upon the name of your master that neither you, nor any force under your command, will ever cause harm to that house or the ones who sleep within it."

The Other considered him.

"One of them is Odinson."

"He is wounded," Loki said. "And the woman is mortal. They pose no threat to you." He leveled a severe look at him. "But I will have your word."

"You think I fear you?" The Other scoffed.

"Wise men do," Loki answered. "And you are wise, are you not, Seer?"

The Other said nothing for a very long time. Then, he drew himself up.

"Very well," he said. "It is nothing to me." His lips curled in a knowing smile. "And, perhaps, _this_ torment shall be worse."

Loki swallowed, avoiding that thought.

"Very well," The Other said again. "I swear upon the mighty name of Thanos: that house and the two lives within it shall remain untouched." He held out his grotesque hands. "Now come with me, Laufeyson."

Loki hesitated. He almost looked back…

He held out his hands, and turned his palms upward.

The Other gripped his wrists.

Loki closed his eyes.

And—

With a quick flash of light, the two of them snapped out of existence.

_To be continued…_

_Review!_


	12. Chapter 12

_My response to your LOVELY reviews is a speedy update! _

_For the FIRST section, I listened to "Midnight Syndicate. The Thirteenth Hour 1 –Mansion in the Mist"_

_For the THIRD section, I listened to "Gladiator Soundtrack: Sorrow."_

_Do enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER TWELVE

"_That's the way things come clear. _

_All of a sudden. _

_And then you realize how obvious they've been all along."_

_~Madeleine L'Engle_

Darkness.

Darkness cut by a disembodied blue glow that barely revealed the edges of the rough-hewn, dripping walls of the downward-sloping tunnel. Loki's boots tapped against the stone, slapping through puddles of water. A stench hung in the air—musty, trapped, decaying. Like old magic. An invisible spell bound his wrists in front of him—and the one who walked on before him had hold of his leash.

The Other glided forward, making no sound as he moved, his long cloak dragging across the floor behind.

Loki's steps lagged.

The Other snapped the invisible chain.

Loki lurched forward, searing pain lashing his wrists.

He took two large, stumbling steps forward and righted himself, wincing. The Other said nothing. He did not even turn.

They kept moving, winding endlessly through a myriad of identical corridors, ever downward, downward…

Loki swallowed, trying to keep his breathing even.

"Where are we?" he asked. His hoarse voice echoed.

"Not far. Not far at all," The Other chuckled. "We are still on Midgard."

Loki frowned, startled.

"I am surprised you did not notice, Son of Laufey," The Other remarked. "Behold the craftsmanship of these tunnels. They are dwarf-make. Ages past, the bearded kings ruled beneath these mountains." His tone turned rough. "But they are long dead, and these caverns rot. And beasts unlike any others lurk between the stones."

Loki fought back a tremor, and made himself keep walking.

As they descended, they passed many gaping doorways on either side, each room black as pitch just beyond the threshold. And past those thresholds, within those cavernous rooms, Loki could hear distant rustlings, near-silent moans, or the skitter of scaly feet against rock. Water dripped in remote recesses, making sounds like individual marbles striking a tabletop—far, far away.

Then, up ahead to the left, Loki glimpsed another of these vast openings.

But, somehow, this one was…different.

His fingers closed into fists. An icy chill swept over his skin—his left hand began to quiver. They approached it—Loki lifted his eyes…

The arched door stood barred, as the gate to a giant's prison. The portcullis sank down into the floor like teeth. He could see nothing beyond the rusted bars.

They had stopped. The Other had halted, and Loki's feet had absently followed suit. He stood, paralyzed.

"What is it that you fear, Laufeyson?" The Other hissed—quiet, sending prickling pain across the skin of Loki's neck and cheek. Loki clamped his jaw shut, but could not pull his eyes from the bars.

A hand grasped his left one. A cold, clammy, powerful hand. Loki twitched, his head jerking around.

The Other leered at him, keeping tight hold of his hand.

"I feel your fear, little prince," The Other said. "Shall I take a guess?"

Sharp stinging bit into Loki's hand—

He gasped. He stared down at his pale skin—skin that now bloomed with a line of scarlet blood.

And the small knife that The Other held also bore his blood.

Loki's insides lurched.

The Other had re-opened a scar.

A thrill of horror slapped him—horror he had felt before, long ago, during a rainy, icy night spent alone in a pit…A pit with a floor that writhed and seethed…

The Other grinned.

And the knife flashed again. Too fast for Loki to track.

He felt an odd tugging at his middle—

And all of a sudden, Loki's tunic and leather breastplate lay open in ribbons, exposing his chest. Completely ruined.

Blood trickled down the back of Loki's hand and between his fingers.

He suddenly couldn't breathe.

"I see into your heart, little prince," The Other said, pointing to the new wound. "You fear this, and more. So much more."

Loki pulled back against his restraints.

A deep, resonating, snarling, slithering _HISSSSSSSS_ rolled out from the black abyss beyond the cage.

Loki froze.

He stared straight back at The Other.

"You fear death. You fear desertion," The Other stepped closer to Loki's face, breathing rancid breath. "But most of all, you fear that your life—full of effort, strife and pain—will be forgotten. That perhaps it already has been." He leered again. "Perhaps you are right."

The hiss issued again—a low, breathy sound. Like the ancient, satisfied laughter of wind through a ruined castle.

"You are alone," The Other whispered.

"_Alone…"_ the _thing_ inside murmured.

"You are unloved."

"_Unloved…"_

The Other shook his head.

"You are…forgotten."

Loki tried to pull back, tried to look away—he could not.

"And…" The Other breathed. "With every ounce of agony you experience, you shall come no nearer to death. Each pinprick of suffering shall sustain you, feeding immortality into your blood." The Other grinned. "You fear death? You fear vanishing from the realm of the living?" He snapped his teeth. "Soon, Loki Laufeyson—you shall _beg _for it."

And that moment, the mighty portcullis slowly began to lift.

LLLLL

"_NOOOO!"_

Jane was screaming before she was conscious.

She sat up, clawing at the back of the couch, her eyes flying open in mid howl.

Her throat clamped shut—cold sweat broke out over her whole body. She stared, eyes wide, at the open door of her bedroom.

"What? Jane, what is it?"

Her view of the door was suddenly obscured by Thor's face—he grabbed hold of her shoulders with both big hands, his blue gaze alarmed. Jane fought to focus on him—the firelight swayed against his skin. She gasped, blinking to see him…

There. His rugged features clarified—his beard, his long, messy blonde hair, piercing sapphire eyes, broad shoulders and homespun clothes.

"I saw…I mean, I had a…" Jane tried—though she somehow couldn't get enough air. Her heart was pounding too fast, too fast…

"Jane," Thor said firmly, sitting down on the couch by her knees. "Jane, it is all right. I am here." He gave her a small, reassuring smile, then raised his eyebrows. "Tell me what is wrong."

She swallowed. Her throat was dry.

"I had a…a dream," she started, reaching up to rub her tight forehead. "I…But it was clearer than that. Like a…"

"A vision," Thor supplied, keeping hold of her. Her brow twisted, and she swallowed again.

"I don't know…" she whispered.

"What did you see?"

She paused, her mind spinning, and looked helplessly up at Thor. He just waited.

"Okay, um…" Jane began, attempting to gather her splintered thoughts. She shut her eyes, trying to remember. "I saw…I saw Loki. He was…He was standing outside, in the front lawn, _right _out there. He was talking to someone…Someone in a hood. I couldn't see his face."

Thor's hands slid down her arms. Absently, Jane reached over and gripped his right hand in both of hers—concentrating.

"They were talking about…About the Cube. And the other attack on New York. And an attack on Asgard."

Thor's grip on her tightened. She made herself go on. Her heartbeat picked up again.

"Then…Then Loki said he was not going to go with that man quietly—he said he was going to bury him underneath the mountains." Jane paused, straining. "But he wouldn't, if…Not if he promised to leave the ones inside the house alone."

"The ones inside the house?" Thor repeated.

Jane gasped. Her head came up.

"Us!" she clamped down on Thor's hand. "He meant _us!_"

"Then what did you see?" Thor demanded, his eyes blazing.

"He promised he would," Jane whispered, stricken. "They disappeared."

"Loki!" Thor bellowed, instantly leaping up from the couch and charging toward the door. Jane twisted to see him—

He flung open the door, stormed out, and shouted into the night.

"Loki! _Loki!" _

He came back in, a wild look in his eye.

"Is he—" Jane started.

"No," Thor panted, charging into the kitchen. Jane covered her mouth with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut. She heard Thor barge out of the kitchen, then into the bathroom, and then Jane's room. When he emerged from there, she watched as he raked both hands through his hair.

A terrible cold coursed through Jane's blood.

Thor stood very still for a long while. Then, he stepped decisively back to the foot of the couch, and met her gaze.

"Jane, you must consider carefully," he warned, holding out a hand. "Did you see _anything _else?"

"Yes," Jane nodded unsteadily.

"Tell me," Thor commanded.

"I saw…" Jane said, letting her eyes unfocus. "Times Square. In New York City."

"Where the others are," Thor realized.

"Yes," Jane nodded absently. "And a clock. A big, glowing, digital clock. It said 12:00. And it was dark. So it must have been midnight."

"What else?"

"Stark Tower," Jane went on. "And at the top…At the top, a bright, pulsing blue glow…"

"The tesseract!" Thor guessed.

"Yes," Jane breathed, looking at him. "And then, right next to the tower, the sky looked like it…Like it _split _open, and…"

All of her insides clamped. Her muscles locked. Her mouth stopped moving. Time stood still.

And, all in one instant, she _knew_.

"Thor," she snapped, standing up and looking directly at him. "How fast can you travel?"

"I…With Mjollnir?" he asked, startled.

"Yes!"

"Very fast," he assured her. "Did I leave it outside?"

"Yes, you did," Jane answered, striding toward the window—but not to look for the hammer. "Okay, what time is it, what time is it…?" She shoved the curtains out of the way. "Ugh, I can't see!" She slapped the curtains shut, hurried to the door, opened it, and easily stepped down the stair. She yanked the front door open and swept out into the frozen wind. The icy grass crunched under her stocking feet—she didn't care. As soon as she had cleared the overhang, she looked straight up into the sky. She stopped. Her eyes narrowed at the stars, swiftly tracking them.

"Norway time…" she breathed. "Okay. It's three in the morning." She raced back into the house, shooting a passing glance at Mjollnir, which lay half buried in ice. She hopped up onto the porch, over the step and went right back into the sitting room. She stopped on the rug by the fireplace and spun to face Thor, who had started to follow her.

"It's three o'clock in the morning here right now," she stated, pointing at him. "Which means it's nine last night in New York. Three hours until midnight, New York time." She turned and marched into her bedroom, leaving the door open so she could shout through. Jane bent down, yanked her suitcase out from under her bed, threw it down on the quilt and flung it open. She pulled out the proper underclothes, jeans, a sweater, socks and boots, then pulled off her coat and pajamas and started to dress.

"You have three hours, Thor, to get the Cube back to the top of Stark Tower," she called.

"Why? What will happen?" he demanded, stepping nearer but keeping back from her door.

"That's how the rips in the space-time continuum will be fixed," she told him, buttoning her jeans, then pulling on her sweater. "The tesseracts have to be fused."

"Wait—the _tesseracts?"_ Thor cried. "What other—"

"I don't have time to explain." Jane pulled on her boots and came back out into the living room. Thor stood there, staring at her.

"I'm just telling you that you _have _to get that Cube to the top of Stark Tower by midnight New York time or—I have _no _idea what will happen, but it will _not _be good." She reached up and fished under her collar for her slender silver chain. Thor stepped toward her.

"You keep saying that _I _must do this," he said intently. "What will _you _do?"

Jane pulled out her pendant, and gripped it in her hand. She looked back at him steadily.

"I'm going to find Loki."

Thor blinked.

"But you cannot—"

"We both can't be in two places at the same time," Jane reminded him. "You _have _to do this, Thor—you _have _to. _Now_."

"_Jane_," Thor said through his teeth, advancing on her. "He is being held captive by some Chitauri monster—and who knows where he has been taken. How will _you_ rescue him?"

Jane gazed up at him, her throat going tight as images rose up in her mind.

Images from the end of her vision—images she would _not _describe to Thor.

Loki, being dragged into a limitless, black cavern by a hooded creature. Being flung down on his back with crushing force—landing hard between two stone pillars, his arms yanked out to the sides like a crucifix by an invisible power—his feet pinned to the floor by that same spell. His chest lay bare, his tunic shredded. And up above him, coiled around the web-like rafters, hung a massive, bloated, black, slithering body—a body that, when coiled, covered the entire ceiling. A huge, blind, diamond-shaped head leered down over him—his hands turned to fists. The great mouth opened—fangs dripped. Loki's eyes shut, his whole body tensed like a bow—and though his lips did not move, her name, in his voice, shot through her mind.

_"Jane…!_"

She looked back at Thor. Her voice came out quiet.

"I have to try," she whispered.

And she shut her eyes, grabbed the violet stone tightly, and whispered:

"Loki."

LLLLL

A flash of snapping heat.

A sensation like a nail driving through his breastbone.

A throb of deeper-than-ice cold—and an uncontrollable, whole-body spasm.

"_Gggahhhh…"_

Loki's chest released its bone-breaking tension, then heaved as he pulled in three hurried, labored breaths. His whole frame went weak, trembling. Absent, reflexive tears spilled from his eyes and trailed down his temples into his hair—the paths they followed were well wet.

He flexed his fingers, clenching his teeth and twisting his shoulders against the chilled floor as an inescapable, marrow-deep ache ran from one bone to the other, stretched across his ribcage, traveled through his legs and down to his heels, then back up to the nape of his neck. He glanced for the hundredth time over at his bleeding left hand.

His wrists were bound to two broad stone pillars—but this time, no manacles gnawed at his flesh. It was a spell. An ancient, wordless spell that tied him more securely than any physical contrivance could have, pinning him in this torturous, almost rack-like position. He could not move anything except his head, shoulders and fingers.

His stomach tightened in premonition.

He turned his head and stared, fixed, at the writhing ceiling. He braced himself for the surge-back.

It hit him.

A wave of strength—potent, swelling each vein with so much power he wanted to _scream_.

Lights blinked and burst in front of his eyes—his mind slipped and lost control, spinning sideways. Visions rushed and whirled past him—visions that entered him like knives.

Beautiful Balder, ashen, his blue eyes wide and unseeing—lying on the marble floor, a shaft of mistletoe protruding from his chest as he coughed and spat up blood. Loki, gripping his hand but refusing to look at him, wracked with sobs as he felt the life drain out of his brother's body…

Sitting alone as a little child, shivering, knees hugged to his chest, at the mouth of a pit-like cave as rain poured. The hundred snakes below him snapped and snarled, edging ever nearer…

Stumbling, falling to his knees. Catching himself and slicing his palms open. Letting out an animal _wail_ and clawing at his hair, shutting out the sight of the black, craggy rock, black empty space, and the two hovering white moons that endlessly rose and set, rose and set…silently rose and set…

Bright brown eyes. Soft, gently-curling brown hair. The touch of her hand against his face—wiping away his tears. The touch of _his _hand against her warm cheek. Stroking away the ice—caressing, _yes, _caressing her face as he healed her, as she gazed back at him with nothing but openness and honesty in her beautiful dark eyes. Wanting to take her into his arms—_longing _to lean his face against her neck, _yearning _to press his lips to her throat, her forehead, her eyelids, her _lips_…

Feeling her torn out of his arms—suddenly, before he can steady himself. Before he can do anything, _say _anything—

She disappears into the blackness—he screams for her. He staggers, struggles through the shadows, but he cannot find her…cannot find her…

Loki thrashed against his bindings. His eyes opened.

It all passed. Sweat ran down his skin. And the blisters that had burst on his chest closed over—healed. Vanished.

The great jaws overhead gurgled and frothed. Loki's fingers worked—opened and closed desperately. He drew in a frantic breath in useless preparation…

A pulse reached him.

Distant, like a heartbeat he could almost hear.

He blinked his tears away, his brow contracting. His vision halfway clarified…

The pulse came again.

It neared, sharpened, focused…

Until it gathered together like strands of cobweb…

And he understood a whispered word in the heart of it.

_"Loki_."

_To be continued…_

_Review for speedy updates!;)_


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you for all of your delicious reviews—I just LOVE hearing from all of you._

_For all of you who left a comment—this one's for you;)_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

_In western lands beneath the Sun  
the flowers may rise in Spring,  
the trees may bud, the waters run,  
the merry finches sing.  
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night  
and swaying beeches bear  
the Elven-stars as jewels white  
amid their branching hair.  
Though here at journey's end I lie  
in darkness buried deep,  
beyond all towers strong and high,  
beyond all mountains steep,  
above all shadows rides the Sun  
and Stars for ever dwell:  
I will not say the Day is done,  
nor bid the Stars farewell._

_-J.R.R. Tolkien_

Wind rushed violently all around her, like a tornado, ripping at her clothes and hair and sending her sense of up and down spinning loose. Jane gritted her teeth, holding her arms tight against her chest, keeping her fingers closed around the Lokistone. Light and dark and gray whistled past her in blurred confusion.

She dropped straight down.

Her stomach plunged—

The wind calmed. The darkness filtered out, replaced by a heavy, chilly gray fog. Something solidified beneath her feet. Indistinct, ominous whispers flittered all around her head—and far behind, and far in front. She dared not open her mouth to say anything.

A strange sound, like simmering water, crisscrossed far above her. And shapes began to form in the dusk.

A black, level floor. Two pillars of fog tightened and hardened into pillars of stone. Then, swirling black tendrils, like ink spilled into water, coiled and curled across the mercurial ground. As she watched, it solidified, took shape…

Into the figure of a young man, lying on his back.

He wore obsidian armor—it glimmered like mirrors. His black cape spread out haphazardly yet majestically beneath him. He had a white, narrow, marble-like face, long lashes, and lengthy, wild raven hair. His arms were stretched out to either side, reminiscent of a man on a cross—his face expressionless, his mouth silent. Colorless. Motionless.

Except for the jagged, bright-red wound on his left hand.

Jane gasped.

And in a blinding rush, everything clarified.

Thick, potent, poisonous darkness pressed down upon her. An eerie blue light somehow came from everywhere—yet did nothing to banish the shadows. A rotten stench made her choke. Echoes of labored panting, strained breaths, rang through the room.

And _he _lay in front of her.

Without armor. His clothes ragged and dirty and ripped open. His arms somehow tied to those pillars. His face looked deathly white—gray, even. And the blue light made the tears in his eyes glitter. He stared, searching, up at the ceiling, his fists clenched, as if his only thought was to keep breathing.

His expression flickered. He closed his mouth, and swallowed.

He frowned.

He turned his head.

He saw her.

For an instant, he did not move. Then—

"Jane!"

His voice sang her name—but his expression sharpened into agonized dismay.

"What have you done?" he demanded, his voice husky from weeping.

"Are you—What's happening?" Jane gasped over him, stepping closer.

"How did you come here?" He pulled reflexively on his bindings. Nothing happened.

"I—I just—"

"You should not have done this," he rebuked her, trying to sit up, fresh tears falling. "I made a bargain with him—a bargain that you would not be touched because you posed no threat. If you come near me he will consider our pact broken—"

"I'm not leaving you here!" Jane burst out, squeezing the Lokistone so hard she felt its edges press against her bones.

"Blast you, woman!" Loki roared, his eyes afire. "Stupid, careless, feeble _woman!_ What do you think you are accomplishing? What do you think—you think _I _care for you? Is that why you came, you senseless piece of filth? That I care whether or not you live or die, breathe or stop?" He jerked both arms, pinning her with a savage gaze. "You were a piece in the game to me before and now you are nothing. I am here to settle a debt." His voice lowered to a deadly note. "And _you_ will keep your meddling hands to yourself—and _get out_."

Jane's breath froze in her chest. She could not turn away from his brilliant, icy eyes.

Loki's jaw clamped.

"Go," he snarled. "Get out."

Jane did not move.

Then, overhead, there came a low, sickening gurgle.

Loki twitched. His gaze flew upward.

So did Jane's.

And her heart fell through the floor.

A leviathan—a _dragon _of a snake had wound its black coils around and around the support beams of the room, and now leered his huge, ghastly, gleaming head over Loki's outstretched form. As Jane watched, paralyzed, the Snake opened its maw, gnashed its teeth…

And a steaming drop of venom fell from its lips, tumbled through the thick air and struck Loki in the chest.

He didn't scream.

He didn't utter a sound.

But his entire body lurched—then went ramrod straight.

All his muscles stood out. His fists clenched so she could see the bones in his hands.

Then, his head thrashed, in violent denial. His eyes rolled beneath his eyelids. His chest spasmed as he tried to breathe. And large blisters, like second degree burns, bloomed all across the soft skin of his midsection.

He choked. Got his throat to open. Gasped in five tearing breaths. His eyes opened. And the blisters faded away.

Jane's lips moved. For several suspended moments, she could not make a sound.

Until at last, she managed a faint cry.

"_Loki!" _

"Go, Jane," he croaked, blinking as endless tears ran down his face, shaking his head and swallowing. "Go, please go. Leave me here. Get out, Jane…"

The Snake spat, like an irritated tiger. Loki's eyes rolled again—his fingers went slack, then closed. Jane's attention jerked up again to the Snake.

It seethed. Its wicked jaws moved. And it drooled out another dose of boiling venom.

Jane moved.

She leaped between the pillars and pressed her heels and back to the pillar that held Loki's right hand. Then, taking a single breath, she leaned forward—felt herself tip…

Her hands landed in the middle of the opposite pillar. Her body formed a bridge right over Loki's chest.

And then—

The venom hit her in the back.

She felt it go _right _through her sweater and stab into her skin. In the next horrified moment, she expected the shaft of an arrow to come shooting out the front of her chest.

She wailed. Her right arm started shivering—she gritted her teeth with all her force and _stayed there_.

"Jane!" Loki's shout, right below her, shook her frame. She blinked her eyes open. Tears fell.

And her entire system was arrested by a powerful surge—and she almost tore in half.

She lost her sight. Her muscles turned to water.

And she saw something.

A hospital. Sitting in an uncomfortable chair, staring at the white wall. Her feet dangling above the floor. Feeling cold.

Her dad coming out of a room next to her. Looking tired—he hasn't shaved. He runs a hand through his messy hair and sits down heavily next to her. He sighs, and looks straight out ahead. Something is _really _wrong…

"Sweetheart…"

Oh, no. His voice isn't right. It's too rocky to be her daddy's…

He reaches over, takes her little hand in his big one, and squeezes.

"Mommy has a tumor. In her brain."

Flickers of bursting light, like camera flashes. Swimming nonsense and blurred sound…

Lying on a stiff bed. The bars on the side of it hurt her back. But she won't move—she's curled up next to a frail woman. Wrapped in the woman's arms.

Mom.

Jane lays her head on Mom's chest. She can feel her ribs. The heart monitor beeps. Jane closes her eyes, and listens to her mom's heartbeats.

One.

Two.

Three…

It stops.

Jane gasped, forcing her eyes open. She heard someone shouting her name, but not clearly. She gazed ahead at the fuzzy image of her hands. She set her jaw. She would _not _move. She took a breath—

And cut it off when it hit her _again_.

Crushing agony streamed down through the base of her neck, all the way down her arms and legs and into the deepest reaches of her chest.

A sensation like being knocked in the head with a baseball bat.

An image. A _moving _image.

Stumbling down the carpeted stairs in her pajamas. Instantly feeling that something was off—the house was too quiet…

The phone ringing. Jarring her brain.

Listening to Erik's voice…Erik's calm, sad voice…

"Jane…Your dad. He's been killed. In a car accident."

Jane felt her body crumbling, but she couldn't open her eyes, couldn't hold herself up…

The funeral.

Rain.

A black casket.

Weeping relatives under umbrellas.

Standing ankle-deep in freezing mud.

Leaning marble headstones, a preacher's low voice…

Erik, standing on the other side of the cemetery from her…

Utter solitude surrounding her, smothering her, overpowering her—

A _flash_ of green light.

A body collided with hers—lifting her up and sideways—

Arms wrapped around her with crushing force—

Jane slammed onto her back. Something—some_one_—landed on top of her.

She opened her eyes.

Loki's face was inches from hers. He lay on top of her, his arms wrapped all the way around her.

"Jane!" he gasped, his tears gleaming on his face. He reached up and hurriedly brushed her hair away from her face, searching her eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I…" Jane couldn't summon any volume—she shook too badly. And she could feel _his _entire body coursing with tremors.

Jaws snapped.

Loki and Jane's heads whipped around—

The Snake tumbled out of the rafters.

Its endless, writhing body struck the stones—the whole cavern shuddered.

Loki yanked Jane up, but his legs buckled and they both crashed to their knees. The Snake rushed toward them, seething, and reared up. Its mouth opened—five-foot long fangs gleamed.

Loki crushed Jane to him. She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest—

A pulse of power, sharp as a gunshot, blasted out from her chest.

Blinding violet light sliced out through the air. Heat swept over her skin.

Silence fell.

For a long, paralyzed moment, neither of them moved a single muscle.

Then, she felt Loki's chin brush the top of her head as he turned.

"Jane…" he breathed.

She opened her eyes. She lifted her face, just a little, and peered out over his arm.

The snake lay on the floor, motionless.

In pieces.

Its black blood oozed all over the floor. Its head lay over to the right, the next section lay over to the left, the next section all the way over _there_…

Jane gasped, sitting up and staring, her fingers closing around folds of Loki's shirt.

"What…" she stammered. "What happened?"

"What is that?"

Loki's voice was soft. And extremely careful.

Her head came back around.

To see his face, very close to hers, bathed in a soft violet glow. And he was staring down at her breastbone.

She glanced down—

The pendant lay on her sweater, the stone gleaming with an ethereal, sparkling, internal light. She reflexively pulled her hand down from Loki's shoulder and touched it. It was warm.

"I…It's—Did _it_ do that_?_"

"Yes. It's mine," Loki murmured, his brow furrowing as he studied it, his eyes vividly intense. His fingertips came up and touched it too. "But it can't be," he murmured, frowning, and shook his head. He lifted his eyes, and looked into hers. "Where did you get this?"

"I…" Jane tried again, fighting back residual shaking. "Before…Before I found you in Stark Tower, I was in a SHIELD bunker across the country. Because of what was happening in New York. And…And when I went into my room there…I saw myself."

Jane stopped, waiting for his incredulous look. He just watched her, never breaking eye-contact. She went on.

"It was me, but _not _me. I—she—was dressed in old-fashioned, beautiful clothes, and she was wearing a wedding ring." Jane took another deep breath. "She told me that, because of a man named Johann Schmidt using the Cube for interstellar travel, he tore a hole in space-time—and if anybody traveled without a bifrost bridge after that just made it worse. And…" Jane swallowed, gazing back at Loki. "She told me that, when you fell off the bifrost and into a dissolving portal to Jotunheim, you split into two realities. At least."

Jane felt Loki's whole body go still. But he said nothing.

"She…_She _gave me this necklace," Jane kept on. "And she told me that I had to come find you. I had to keep you from being captured by Thor, because if I didn't, Thor would try to take you back to Asgard using the Cube, and everything would…" She trailed off. A strange, soft look had crossed Loki's eyes—soft, yet so intense it made her heart skip a beat.

"I see," he whispered—and Jane had the sudden feeling that those two words carried more depth than everything she had said.

He frowned again, distantly.

"Did she tell you what is to be done?"

"Yes," Jane nodded, managing to keep hold of her thoughts. "Just…Just a little bit ago. I had a dream. And she showed me that the Cube _has _to be on the top of Stark Tower by midnight, New York time, so that another portal can open—a portal to _her _reality, so that the Cube _she _has and the one _we _have can be fused together, and sew up the rips in the seams." Jane braced herself. "I sent Thor to do that. I'm sure he's almost there by now."

Loki's gaze flickered over her face, then focused on her eyes again.

"And you came to find me."

Jane swallowed again. And finally realized where she was.

She was sitting on his bent leg. She had hold of the front of his torn tunic, and his arms were wrapped around her. She could feel his breathing—she had to tilt her head back to look at him, his face was so close. She nodded. He said nothing. Her thumb worked nervously back and forth on a strip of leather.

"Did you…" she whispered, all the courage suddenly draining out of her body. She searched his eyes. "Did you…mean what you said? Earlier? That I was just a piece in the game and now I don't—"

He kissed her.

His mouth met hers with sudden, passionate force—his fingers wrapped around her neck, his thumb pressed against her soft throat, her pulse, which instantly skyrocketed.

Jane's eyes fluttered closed—she drew in a breath through her nose and drowned in the scent of the sea, pine forests, smoldering fire…

He tilted his head and pressed deeper, bringing both hands up to cradle her neck—she leaned in to him, her lips burning against his. Their mouths locked together—he slid his hands down and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She encircled his neck and entwined her fingers through his long hair—it felt like the crisp, soft wing feathers of a crow.

His lips softened. He drew back slowly, making her yearn toward him. Their lips parted. He bent his head, and kissed the base of her neck. An electric thrill shot through Jane's body. He held onto her and leaned her back, and kissed her throat—her arms tightened around him. He pulled her gently toward him, and pressed his lips to her forehead, then lowered his mouth to kiss her eyelid—the same eye he had reformed with ice and warmth. Then, he rested his forehead down against hers, and took a shuddering breath.

"I must tell you," he whispered unsteadily. "You have no idea how desperately I am in love with you."

Tears filled Jane's eyes.

"I think I might have an idea."

He backed up, and stared at her.

She smiled at him—reached up, and brushed a strand of his feather-like hair away from his face.

Emerald flooded his eyes.

And Jane sat up, wrapped her arms all around him, leaned full into his chest and pressed her lips to his. Over and over.

Startled, thirsty, Loki responded instantly. Their mouths moved in deep, deliberate concert as they crushed each other tighter.

He lifted her up—raised her to her feet as he got to his own, never breaking the kiss. Firmly, he stroked the sides of her face with his thumbs, pressing deep and lingering, before at last parting his lips from hers, and gazing down into her eyes.

And he smiled at her. He gave a half laugh, his eyes twinkling with wonder, as if he had never seen her before, but every aspect of her features delighted him.

"Come," he said, running his thumb across Jane lower lip.

"Where are we going?" Jane gasped, trying to steady herself.

Loki reached down, took hold of her hand in both of his, and pressed it to his thundering heart.

"The tesseract is still in peril. So…" He grinned. "We're going to help my brother."

And before Jane could even take a breath, there was a bright flash—

And they _snapped _out of the dungeon, leaving the carcass of the Snake behind.

_To be quickly continued…_

_Review, my lovelies! You know you want to;)_


	14. Chapter 14

_HANG ON!_

_For this WHOLE CHAPTER, I listened to "Two Steps from Hell- Spirit of Champions," followed IMMEDIATELY by "Two Steps from Hell-Heart of Courage (Extended version) _

_Enjoy!_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"_The enemy_

_Of my enemy_

_Is my friend."_

_-Anonymous_

"This is _not _working!"

Mjollnir slapped back into Thor's hand with such force that he winced, and only shot a look at Romanov, who had shouted. She hunched beside the tread of the Midgardian vehicle called a "tank," and fired her gun repeatedly out in front of it. The swift concussions battered the canyon of buildings, adding to the babbling, screeching cackle of battle.

Thor, panting, swept his gaze across the scene, reaching out to press his left hand on the side of the tank. The tank that carried the tesseract.

Up until ten minutes ago, this tank and three decoys had been driving headlong from various points toward Stark Tower. But their luck had run short—the Chitauri and Skrulls had decimated each tank, one at a time, until only this one was left. And now, they had set up a massively-armed blockade spanning the entire block in front of them—and Thor sensed the crawling, snapping creatures hurrying through alleys and buildings to surround them entirely. Behind the Avengers and their tank stood a mighty Midgardian force—both in vehicles and on foot, policemen and soldiers—that fired back into the enemy lines with devastating raw power. The windows of the surrounding buildings lay shattered on the sidewalks, and the streets had heaved up into rubble.

Thor could barely hear and he almost couldn't see. It was dark—dangerously close to midnight—and many of the city's lights had been blown out. Choking smoke rose into the air, obscuring any starlight. The lights that did remain cast deceiving shadows and flashed and blinked against windows and around corners like oncoming fire, disorienting him and making his skin shiver.

The air overhead screamed. A Skrull fighter—one of _hundreds _of hornet-like vehicles—dove down between the buildings and strafed the street and the Midgardian force just behind the Avengers. The fire pockmarked the tanks, armored trucks and cement, sending shrapnel flying.

Thor ducked down and dodged behind the tank—the only shred of cover they had. He instantly bumped into Tony, who now only wore parts of his charred iron suit, and leaned back against the tank. Thor could see half of Tony's face in the distorted light—he was covered in grime and blood.

"How do you feel?" Thor asked him.

"Like crap," Tony bit out, grimacing as he raised his hand and fired a pulse. It flashed out—a stray Chitauri on a flier blasted into pieces.

"What does that mean?" Thor asked, swiping cold sweat from his brow.

"I feel about how you feel," Tony clarified, aiming again, shooting—and obliterating a mailbox instead of a Skrull that had poked his head out of a door. The Skrull retreated.

"Hey, fellas?" Steve called from the other side of the tank. "What's plan B, here?"

"I'm with Steve. 'Cause this, what we're doing here, is no longer an option," Clint added from the top of the tank. The next instant, Thor heard an arrow whiz through the air.

An explosion rattled the ground. The night shivered.

"Nice dent," Steve commented.

"Thanks," Clint acknowledged.

"We must _make _a way," Thor bellowed, gripping Mjollnir tighter—it was slippery with sweat.

"How's Banner?" Tony asked, leaning around toward the left side of the tank.

Romanov's gunfire cracked. The Skrulls roared—Thor felt them chatter closer.

"Oh, I'm fine," Banner muttered, sounding entirely human again. "Now that there's nothing left in my stomach."

"Take it easy, buddy," Tony advised.

"We cannot last much longer out here!" Erik Selvig called from that same side.

A blinding, deafening salvo of Chitauri fire splattered across the whole street, slamming into an armored truck and sending it careening into a wall.

Romanov yelped.

"Natasha?" Clint cried. The next moment, his booted feet hit the cement.

Thor swung around to their side of the tank. Romanov knelt, her head bowed, her left hand pressed to her shoulder.

Clint, his clothes torn and his face sweaty, fell on his knees and pushed her back against the tank.

"It's not bad. Clint it's _not _bad," Romanov insisted—through her teeth.

"Yeah, sure," Clint muttered, his voice shaking. "You always say that." He lifted his hand—blood from her shoulder coated his palm.

"We are officially dead in the water, here!" Tony declared. "You had another plan, right, Hammer?"

Thor gritted his teeth as another salvo sputtered by overhead. He didn't answer.

"Okay, the Boy Scout's right, then," Tony decided. "We've gotta make one."

"Like _what_?" Banner wanted to know. Tony glanced around, his jaw tightening.

"I'm working on it."

"_Move!" _ Clint suddenly roared—and grabbed Romanov and threw her out of the way, onto the pavement. He dove on top of her.

The next instant, a rocket slammed into their tank.

A massive _BOOM _rocked the street.

Thor tumbled away, his eyes dazzled.

The tank skidded twenty feet backward. Smoke swallowed it.

Thor shook his head hard, swiping at his eyes. He stumbled back toward the tank.

"Howardson!" he bellowed, then coughed.

"What, you think I'm deaf?" Tony said hoarsely from inside the cloud. "Clint said move, so I moved."

"Is everyone—" Clint started, getting up from the ground and helping Romanov limp to her feet. He stopped speaking, and stared. So did Thor.

The entire front of the tank was gone.

And through it, the eerie glow of the tesseract beamed.

The Midgardian driver slumped over, dead.

A howl of triumph rose from the enemy ranks and up to the sky.

Thor's heart plunged.

The enemy charged.

Thor braced his weakened legs as the wild horde rushed forward.

Then—

A shadow.

Thor felt it before he saw it. A bone-deep cold.

A settled silence.

The army skidded to a halt…

And looked _up_.

Clint, Natasha gripped in his arms, turned—and his eyes went wide.

"What. Is. _That._"

Thor turned around, and lifted his eyes to the sky.

And he could not answer.

A beast with wings that spanned ten New York blocks—a long-necked beast blacker than the midnight sky, with eyes like red flame and a throat like a blacksmith's coals—loomed toward them. Its mighty forelegs spread, its glittering claws flexing, its huge, flaming maw gaping open to show rows of razor-sharp golden teeth. It beat its wings—a blast of wind thudded against the bones of those below. It took a breath and _screamed_—and its cry carried the sound of a forest set to burning, of heavy slithering chains, a brood of hissing adders, and the chaos of the winter wind. Its tail dragged behind it, spreading a black fog that hid everythingfrom view.

Thor's blood turned to ice. None of the Avengers moved.

And then—

A Skrull fighter swung around a building and blazed straight toward the dragon. It opened fire. Bolts peppered the dragon's chest.

"Holy, _crap_—" Tony gasped—

And the dragon took a heaving breath and spat a _river_ of fire.

Green flame, piercing and brighter than daylight, swallowed the fighter, igniting it like a dry leaf. The remaining shreds tumbled like ashes to the street.

The heat flared against Thor's skin.

The Midgardian army howled and ducked.

The Chitauri and Skrull army fled.

They ran, wailing in panic, away from the dragon's shadow.

The dragon pursued them—it dipped low, snapping its jaws with claps of thunder, beating the air with its wings—howling with the cries of the Furies.

And the next second, the black fog swallowed Thor.

He spun around—he could see nothing. Icy, wet wind whirled around him. He hefted Mjollnir and strained his eyes, his breathing catching. Confused shouting and calling rose from the Midgardian lines.

Movement.

He faced it.

Something—some_one_—was coming toward him.

Silver light from a building to Thor's left pierced the fog.

And a young man strode through it.

A young man with a fair, angular face; wild ebony hair, and blazing emerald eyes. He wore black, elegant, form-fitting armor that gleamed and shone like mirrors—his helmet was crafted of flashing silver, two wicked, backward-curving horns adorning the brow of it. The long black cape that flowed out behind him rustled and stirred—so much like a cloud of restless ravens.

Mjollnir went limp in Thor's hand.

The young man met Thor's eyes, and stopped.

Thor staggered toward him, then trotted—then ran.

He halted mere feet away from him.

They met each other's gazes.

"Loki," Thor burst out.

Loki's green eyes gleamed.

"I…" Thor started helplessly, then gestured to him. "I haven't seen you wear that armor since…Since we fought the dwarves for the stolen relic, and you—"

"—I nearly broke my arm saving you from that pit. Yes," Loki gave half a smile and glanced down at himself. "I forgot I had it. It isn't as protective as those I've lost, but…" He lifted his penetrating eyes to Thor. His black eyebrows came together. "How do you feel?"

Thor stepped in and wrapped his arms tight around Loki. He laid his head against Loki's cool helmet and closed his eyes. Loki lightly encircled Thor's waist with his arms.

"Better," Thor said brokenly, then backed up and took Loki by the shoulders. "Now that you are here."

Loki gave him a solemn look—one that softened around the edges. He said nothing. Thor grinned, and clapped a hand to the side of Loki's head.

Loki smiled.

"What…Thor? _Thor?" _Tony's voice rang through the fog.

"Where is Jane?" Thor asked Loki.

Loki turned his flashing head and looked behind him.

"Jane?" He held out his right hand.

Out of _thin air_, a graceful hand reached out and grasped Loki's.

And all at once, Jane Foster, clad in the same sweater and blue trousers and boots as before, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders, her brown eyes bright and alert, snapped into being. A violet pendant hanging around her neck glowed like an ember.

"Haha!" Thor crowed, and instantly stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Brilliant girl! You found him!"

She let out a startled laugh, then glanced at Loki—who smiled softly back at her. She stepped up to Loki's side and secured her hold on his hand.

"Thor?" That was Steve's voice. Then, Thor heard Banner, Tony, Clint, Erik, and Romanov start calling to each other.

"Over here!" Thor bellowed.

Loki gave a short sigh—

And snapped his fingers.

The fog blew away from a portion of the street.

Instantly, Thor could see everyone—they all stood around the ruined tank—and now their heads whipped around to face them.

They froze.

"What the…" Tony gasped.

Everyone fell silent.

Then Romanov—still leaning on Clint—lifted her gun and aimed at Loki.

Tony's arm snapped up—he pointed his pulse bolt at Loki as well. Banner and Erik peered around the tank; and Steve, his blonde hair hanging across his dirty forehead, braced himself and raised his shield, his blue eyes watchful.

"I knew it," Romanov growled, her eyes deadly. "I told you he'd come back."

"Just as you did, Agent Romanov?" Loki said, raising his eyebrows.

Her eyes flickered. She said nothing.

"I heard about your change of heart," Loki went on, quietly. "How you planned to betray everyone here to a sorcerer plotting to open a bifrost to Asgard." Loki paused, holding her gaze. "But when the tide turned, and Barton here was placed in harm's way—your allegiance changed."

Clint swallowed, and glanced down.

Romanov did not stir. Neither did Loki. The fog drifted back.

"You told me once that love is for children," Loki pressed. "That it does not drive your actions or your thoughts. You did your best to convince me that your heart is as icy as your intellect." Loki raised his eyebrows again, gave a smile, and shook his head. "But I don't believe you." He paused for a long moment, then leveled a look at her. "Because nothing else could have caused you to make such a drastic and foolish decision."

Clint wasn't looking at Loki anymore. He was gazing openly at Natasha's face, while he kept gentle hold of her arm.

Natasha still aimed at Loki—but Thor saw her eyes shining.

"I understand you, Romanov," Loki murmured. "Please grant me the same understanding."

Thor blinked. He turned to Loki—and saw Jane.

Who gazed up at Loki with those warm brown eyes the same way that Clint was looking at Natasha. And her fingers entwined with his.

Thor stopped. He turned that picture over in his mind, softly.

Then, he quietly smiled.

_BOOM!_

Thor leaped toward his Loki and Jane, bending over and across them. Everyone ducked.

"What—" Steve tried, quickly raising his shield as falling cement pieces clattered against it. Thor's left hand squeezed Loki's shoulder, and his right kept hold of Jane's arm. Natasha and Clint had spun back around—Banner and Erik hurried out toward them, keeping their heads down.

"They're coming back," Erik said.

"Erik!" Jane cried, beaming.

"_Jane!_" Erik hurried toward her, then slowed down as he glanced up at Loki. He halted. Loki just gazed coolly back at him. Erik shot a wary look up at Thor.

"Is he with you, now?"

Thor frowned.

"He is my brother."

"I thought you said he was adopted," Clint pointed out.

"Is blood the only measure of brotherhood?" Thor snapped back, straightening and sending Clint a severe look. Thor felt everyone watching him, but did not turn his gaze from the Hawk.

"This is a nice little discussion, here—but we really don't' have time for it," Banner spoke up. "We need to figure out what to do with _him_—" he pointed at Loki. "And then we've got to do _something _with this Cube before the bad guys get to it."

"Wait—_do _with him?" Jane cut in. Everyone looked at her. She met all of their eyes, searching.

"You can't _do _anything to him—you _need _him!"

"Who is this and why is she here, ordering me around?" Natasha demanded, gesturing at her with her gun.

"Be careful with that weapon, Romanov," Loki snarled, his eyes turning to fire.

"Hey, shut up," Tony barked, stepping toward him. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be elbow deep in this crap like we are now." His eyes blazed too, and he pointed an armored hand at Loki. "So you need to tell us what the heck you are doing here, what you want, all that jazz—and then we'll figure out how far out into space we want to kick you."

"I told you, he willingly went with the Chitauri chieftain to protect Jane and me," Thor bristled. "And _he _is the one who sent the dragon to frighten our enemies!"

"Who is Jane?" Clint snapped. Erik faced him.  
"This is Jane Foster, a leading astrophysicist—"

"_The _Jane Foster?" Banner's attention focused, and he came closer. "The one who

formulated the Foster Theory?"

"Yes," Jane nodded. "Dr. Banner, right?"

"Yes—"

_BOOM!_

Glass blasted sideways, just a short distance away.

Natasha whirled around and fired three times into the fog.

Something screeched. She turned back to Clint.

"They're close."

"I don't care—we are _not _doing anything with Loki standing here like this," Steve gestured firmly, and looked at Thor. "I'm sorry, Thor, but we can't run the risk of—"

"This is _not _up for discussion!" Jane shouted, taking a step into the middle of the circle of fighters. "Thor already told you what is happening—we _have _to get the Cube to the top of Stark Tower at midnight if we have _any _hope of repairing the damage done to the space time continuum. And the longer we stand here talking, the less time we have to get it there."

"So what are you saying, sweetheart?" Tony said indignantly. "_This_ guy has already shot this city straight to hell and you're expecting us to—"

"What she is saying is that Thor and I are taking the tesseract to the top of Stark Tower," Loki declared, his voice sure and cold. "Because none of what we say here will matter if we're all blasted to oblivion. And I don't relish that thought any more than you do." He looked at them all, one by one. "Come with us, or not. But if you want to live, I suggest you keep within our wake." He took hold of Jane's hand and started forward.

Natasha pulled out of Clint's arms and stepped in front of Loki.

He stopped.

She lifted her chin.

"That tesseract is _not_ leaving my sight."

"Then you will have to come along," Loki said. "But you'll have to move more quickly than you are able to right now."

Her mouth opened.

Loki reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

"Get your _hands_—" Clint started.

Light flashed under Loki's palm.

Natasha gasped.

Loki withdrew.

Everyone stared at her shoulder.

"What…" Natasha stammered. Clint moved the torn fabric of her sleeve—then looked up at Loki.

"It's healed. How did you do that?"

"There's no time for more questions," Loki decided, staring straight back at Clint. "Are you coming or staying?"

Everyone waited, watching Clint. And Thor felt the universe balancing on the edge of what Clint was about to say.

"Fine," Clint nodded once. "But I still don't like you."

"I'm not fond of you, either," Loki answered.

"And we are going to have _words _after all this is over—assuming you and I are both still alive, of course."

"Of course," Loki replied.

"Okay," Clint said. "Just so we're clear."

"We are."

"Good. Shall we?"

Loki inclined his head.

"After you."

Without another word or look, the two men broke into long strides, Clint first, then Loki caught up and walked with him, side by side. Jane filed in right behind Loki—Thor instantly moved to Loki's left. Thor heard the others hesitantly start to follow.

Loki leaped up onto the shattered tank, his figure metallic and striking, then knelt down over the glow. For a moment, he stared down into it. The blue light gleamed against his obsidian armor, the angles of his face and the horns of his helmet. His cape cast over and behind him like waiting wings. His vivid eyes quieted in the eerie blue light.

"You kept them together." He observed. He glanced up at Steve. "Soldier. Reach in and take this staff."

"Don't _you_ want it?" Steve asked bitterly.

"I'll not touch it," Loki answered in a low voice, glancing back down inside. "And of all of us, I do not think it can touch _you_."

Thor watched as Steve clambered up beside Loki, eyeing him as he did. Loki stood up and moved out of the way. Hesitantly, Steve bent down and pulled out the long, glittering, evil-looking Chitauri staff—the one Loki had wielded—then rose to his feet. He held it uneasily, then looked up at Loki.

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Guard it with your life," Loki answered, meeting his eyes. "But nothing else." He looked back down at the glow of the tesseract, held out his hands palms down…

And waved them.

Another flash—

The glow disappeared.

"What happened?" Erik cried.

"I put it in a safe place between places," Loki answered, turning and hopping down to the street—his cloak blustered.

"And if you get killed, what happens then?" Natasha demanded. Loki smirked at

her.

"Then two of your problems will be solved."

Jane swallowed, and gripped the pendant.

Loki looked at her a moment, gently, then glanced up at Thor.

For an instant, their gazes held.

"You coming, Tony?" Clint called.

"I already signed up for suicide, so I guess this works," Tony muttered, giving them all dark looks as he strode loudly up.

"Banner?" Clint pressed.

"I'm here," he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Clint turned to Loki.

"Let's do this thing."

Loki nodded. And again, in perfect concert, they set off.

Thor, Loki and Clint's strong steps matched exactly as they swept into the fog. Thor sensed Natasha move up to march just behind Clint's shoulder. Selvig joined Jane, and Tony, Banner and Steve fell in just behind and beside Thor.

Thor gripped Mjollnir, feeling strength surge through him as their boots thudded on stone.

Now this—_this _felt familiar.

"The smokescreen idea is about to backfire on us," Clint observed.

"Noted," Loki answered. "Prepare yourselves. I'm going to lift it." He lifted a hand.

"What then?" Thor asked, glancing at him. Loki smiled.

"We use your method, brother." He sent a wicked, glinting look at him. "We _hit _them. _Very _hard."

Thor grinned.

Loki snapped his fingers.

In a great rush, the fog blew away.

And the Chitauri and Skrull army suddenly stood before them.

For a heartbeat, the enemy stood frozen, stunned.

Loki did not wait for them to recover.

He clapped his hands, summoned a bolt of blinding energy, and hurled it at them.

Their front line exploded.

Thor let out a mighty bellow, whirled Mjollnir and threw it. Bones crushed. Chitauri shrieked. Bodies thudded to the paving.

Clint and Natasha fired rapidly straight into the lines. Tony raised his arm and shattered the defenses with quick, overpowering pulses. The darkness of the night danced with chaotic flashes of brilliant light.

The Chitauri and Skrulls fired back at them.

Loki's hands moved—whirled and spun and struck as if he were fighting an invisible opponent. The enemy bolts shivered—stopped in mid air—then flashed back to their origins. The Nine kept striding forward, never breaking, as a steady roar of thunder built up all around them. Mjollnir slapped back into Thor's hand only to blast back into the fray again. The air crackled with electricity and pounded with the concussions of gunfire. Jane grasped Loki's cloak with both hands and kept her head down, treading in his footsteps—and Erik Selvig kept tight hold of _her_.  
"There it is!" Tony cried, firing a pulse—the Skrulls and Chitauri's dark, gnashing ranks seethed closer, brandishing their weapons. Thor caught Mjollnir, and looked up.

Looming over them stood the gleaming monolith of Stark Tower.

Before them stood a thousand enemies.

And a squadron of Skrull fighters shook the air overhead—coming toward them.

Thor gritted his teeth.

"Thor?" Loki batted back a barrage of cannon fire, and glanced at him. Thor looked back at him.

"We need a path," Thor realized.

"Not a crater," Loki nodded.

"And the others are too close, so I cannot—"

"Preferably not," Loki allowed, flicking burning, dervish-like balls of flame into the Skrulls' knees. They yelped and leaped away.

"Can you—" Thor started. Loki let out a short breath.

"I can try," Loki said, glaring at the ranks. He rubbed his hands together, then brought them sharply up.

A shimmering, curved shield sprang up before them—cannon fire _pinged _off the other side. Loki looked sharply back at the others.

"All of you must get back. And you must let go, now." He directed this at Jane, who looked palely at him.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded, not releasing him. Loki turned to Thor.

"Something we have never tried," Thor confessed, watching her. "Something we have only spoken about."

"What's that?" Steve asked, stepping closer.

"We're going to turn the lightning," Loki answered.

"Sounds dangerous," Clint commented.

"Turn it? How?" Erik wondered.

"Thor is the beacon," Loki said. "I am the channel."

"That'll kill you," Banner said.

"Perhaps," Loki lifted an eyebrow at him. "And that troubles _you_?"

"Listen—" Banner started.

_SNAP._

A large crack popped through the shield.

"Back up," Thor said, waving the others off.

"Let go of me, _Fjellfiolett ," _Loki pulled her hands off his cape. She clawed at him—took hold of his wrists, her eyes wide.

"There's some other way—"

"No," he shook his head, then gave her a small smile. "But the one who loves you is a bit of a magician. Don't give up on him yet."

He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to her lips.

He released her, gave her a brilliant look, then turned to Thor. He nodded.

"Brother."

Thor nodded back at him.

Loki leveled a snarling look at the enemy lines—

And the shield dropped.

He stepped out in front of Thor, and held out his right hand to him.

Thor grasped it, hard. Loki squeezed back.

Thor took a deep breath, and raised Mjollnir toward the sky.

The air churned—heaved. Thor felt a thrill vibrate through his entire body.

Thunder growled far overhead.

And then—

_Lightning!_

It plunged down out of the sky, obliterating everything in blinding light.

The bolt struck Mjollnir and traveled down Thor's arm, lighting up every edge and surface of his silver armor—

And surged out through his left arm and into Loki's right.

Loki's armor illuminated like a comet enclosed in crystal. Loki threw out his left arm, pointed at the wall of Skrull and Chitauri—

And lightning _leaped _from his left hand and screamed straight at them.

Their bodies blasted to pieces, flung out of the way like chaff and flinders. The fiery column of lightning cut an instant path, incinerating _everything _in its way and turning all the buildings and windows and light posts in the entire street into howling white.

The remaining ranks split and retreated, flailing and screaming as they ran.

Thor lowed Mjollnir.

Loki's hand slackened in his. His frame sagged.

Thor stepped in and took hold of him, his heart skipping a beat—

Loki wrapped an arm around Thor's waist and chuckled. Then, he lifted his pale face and looked at Thor—and slapped his other hand hand to Thor's breastplate.

"And _that, _Brother, is why I am left handed and you are right handed."

"Oh, is that the reason?" Thor chuckled, his chest easing.

"Of course," Loki nodded. He swallowed, and drew himself up. He glanced past Thor, and found Jane. "How did I do?"

She ran to him, her hair bannering out behind her—he reached out his hand and caught hers.

"Are you okay?" she asked urgently.

"Yes," he breathed, and kissed her on the top of the head. "We must hurry."

"Okay…that was the most awesome thing I've ever seen," Tony declared. Clint laughed.

"Stick around him a while."

"Was that a compliment, Barton?" Thor wondered, glancing back at him as they started down the charred pathway. Barton shrugged.

"He didn't say _good _or _right_. He said _awesome_."

"Come on!" Jane urged, and Thor followed her and Loki, hearing Clint, Natasha, Steve, Banner and Selvig come right on his heels.

"I hear the fighters coming…" Banner warned.

"Let's get inside, then," Erik suggested. They all broke into a run.

Jane shoved the front door out of the way—they all piled through it, and found themselves in a dark, hard-surfaced lobby. Red emergency lights glowed. The silence filled with the sound of their panting.

"How many floors does this place have, Tony?" Steve wanted to know.

"A lot," Tony muttered.

"What's the fastest way to the top?" Natasha asked.

"Well, if the elevator's working—" Tony started.

"I don't think there's any power in here," Clint said. "Has your reactor been knocked out?"

"I don't know—there should be an emergency reserve—the elevators are just over there, and they _should _work—"

"I will make it work," Loki hissed. "Where is it?"

"There," Tony pointed. Loki swept toward a double door in the wall. He pushed the buttons off to the side of it. Nothing happened.

He laid his hands against the metal door.

Massive grinding issued from inside the wall.

He shoved—the doors slid open with a screech. He stepped inside. Thor and Jane followed. After just a second's hesitation, the rest of them clambered in after.

"Stay away from the door," Loki warned.

And the next instant, the elevator shot upward.

The mortals yelped and caught themselves—flashes of light and dark blaring through the open door disoriented even Thor—he held on tightly to Loki and Jane.

In mere moments, the lift slowed, and jerked to a stop. Just outside the door stood a small, dark room, and another door.

"Come on," Clint said, and they all piled out, Loki and Jane last. Clint shoved the next door open—

Night wind rushed in. They all strode out onto the crunching gravel—blackness above, fiery light beneath. They were on the roof.

Up here, Thor could hear the sirens wailing all throughout the city—could feel the heat from the fires, could smell all the smoke rolling up from the lower floors. They all came to the center of the roof and halted—everyone cast about them, searching.

"What time is it?" Banner asked Clint. Clint looked down at his watch.

"Two minutes till."

Thor swallowed, and glanced at Jane. She gripped Loki's hand hard. Natasha turned to Loki, eyeing him.

"So—bring out the tesseract."

"Not yet," Loki shook his head. "Not until I can see that—"

"So."

They all stopped. A chill raced down Thor's spine.

They whirled around.

A towering figure cloaked in red, his eyes bandaged, stood on the small roof above the door they had just come out of. He grinned—his savage teeth glistened.

"Laufeyson," he said, gnashing his jaws. "You have given me the tesseract after all."

He held out his hand.

Steve yelled—the staff ripped from his grasp, flew through the air, and clapped into the eerie stranger's many-fingered hand. He pointed the staff at Loki.

Loki shoved Jane behind him.

Thor grabbed hold of Loki's arm.

Clint and Natasha raised their weapons—Tony lifted his arm, Steve readied his shield.

"You made the mistake of forgetting," the stranger grinned. "That without us, Laufeyson—without _Him_, you are _nothing!" _

The blue flame in the staff surged—

And from behind them, there came a great and terrible _ripping _sound.

_To be continued…_

_Review! It makes me type fast!_


	15. Chapter 15

_Words cannot express how much gratitude toward you fills up my heart. Suffice it to say that this has been the grandest adventure yet. And I dearly hope you enjoy this last chapter._

_For the first section, I listened to the Thor Soundtrack: Letting Go, followed by Science and Magic._

_Thank you, forever and always 3_

_VVVVV_

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"_What though the sea with waves continuall  
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all ;  
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought :  
For whatsoever from one place doth fall  
Is with the tyde unto another brought :  
For there is nothing lost, _

_that may be found_

_if sought."_

_-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene_

A sonic _blast_ slammed Jane into Loki's back. It cracked from behind them and screamed across the skyline. And a blue flash exploded, brighter than direct sunlight. Jane grabbed Loki's cloak—he swept an arm around her and pulled her close—

The scarlet, blind figure above the door threw his hands into the air—

The flash of light decimated him.

He burst into a thousand pieces, like sliced ribbons, and tumbled out of existence. The staff clattered to the ground.

The ripple of power raced down the sides of the building—Jane could feel it under her feet—and barreled out toward all corners of the city. And as it moved, a great, horrified cry arose from the streets. A collective, _alien _cry.

The engines of the hundred buzzing fighters extinguished. As one, they each fell into chaotic tailspins and plummeted straight into the ground, or crashed into the distant black water. Chattering, gasping and choking issued from the lowest level in a strangled roar.

The ripple, like a roll of thunder, hurried away and quieted to nothing. Silence fell over the whole of Manhattan.

But behind them, the soft glow of light remained.

Slowly, Jane turned toward it. She felt Loki, then all of the others, gradually do the same thing.

All the breath left her body.

A wide, luminous archway stood with its bases planted on the roof. And in the middle of the arch stood nine people.

Three of them, Jane did not recognize. One of them was a mighty, golden-clad old man, with shoulder-length white hair, a beard, and a patch over one eye. He carried age in his shoulders, and an ancient mix of knowledge, joy and sorrow marked his weathered face. To his near left stood a magnificent woman with curly golden hair, wearing long, flowing white robes. She had a warm look in her dark eyes—a look both softened and intensified by the object glowing in the old-man's hand: the fiery tesseract.

For a long while, Jane just stared at it, completely captivated, unable to look away.

Then, all at once, her attention twitched to the side—

And she looked into her own eyes.

Her reflection—_herself_. She wore a long, deep-green dress embroidered with silver, and her hair hung down in curls. She stared back at Jane. And her right hand tightly clasped the hand of…

Loki.

_Loki_.

He stood directly beside the woman in white. He wore black and green—princely clothes. Lean and knife-like, he had long, wild hair, and those selfsame sharp, pale features Jane knew so well…

But his eyes searched—and found her. Those stunning emerald eyes—

Completely unguarded. Vulnerable. Brilliant. His eyebrows drew together. A knowing, intimate, familiar gaze went _right _through her.

Her heart nearly burst.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep breathing. And absently, she recognized the others gathered so close behind her other self and the other Loki.

Thor—dressed in flashing silver, radiant as a lion in the sun. The strong fingers of his left hand interlaced with those of a striking, dark haired, black-eyed woman in red that Jane remembered as Lady Sif, the warrioress who had once attacked the Destroyer head-on. And the two of them gazed earnestly out and across at the ragged Thor that pressed in close behind the Jane and Loki upon the roof. Jane knew the faces of some of the others: there was Tony Stark, wearing clothing similar to Loki's, only red and gold. Near him was tall, handsome, almost angelic Steve Rogers, dressed in deep, soft blue that made his eyes shine. Beside him waited a man Jane did not know—a short, rugged man with dark hair, sideburns, black clothes, a leather jacket and intense dark eyes beneath a knotted brow.

Nobody on either side moved a single inch. All Jane could do was let her attention be dragged back toward her other self, and the tall, dark one who stood beside her.

And all she could feel was _Loki_. Right behind her. Her back pressed against his chest.

A gasping laugh caught Jane off guard—she shot a darting look across at her other self…

Whose eyes were shining. She had covered her mouth with her hand—and a brilliant ring upon it caught the light and flashed it back.

"You found him!" she cried to Jane. She lowered her hand, and gave Jane a brilliant smile. "You did it!"

Jane felt her own eyes burning—her brow twisted, and she nodded hard. Everyone on this side turned to look at her, but she couldn't pull her attention away from herself—and from the other Loki…

Who was smiling gently at her.

Right at her.

And then his glance flicked up, to his other self—and settled in an eerie and penetrating manner that made Jane's Loki shudder.

She dared to turn, to shift slightly and glance up and back at him…

To see a stunned tear fall down his white face, and sparkle in the soft glow. She watched, breathless, as his wide gaze swept desperately across the entire group, lighting upon the other Thor, his other self—the other Jane—and then the old man and woman, only to return to the piercing eyes of his doppelganger.

And for a long moment, the two of them spoke without uttering one word.

"What is this?"

Clint's staggered voice cut through the silence. Jane blinked, then swallowed—but absolutely no words came into her mind.

"It is a gate," the shining old man across from them answered in a plain, calm voice—and an otherworldly thrill shocked all through Jane's body.

"We have pushed a damaged seam open a little wider," the golden-haired woman to his side addressed Clint. "So that the tesseracts can be fused, and the damage repaired that has been done to the fabric of the universe."

"What killed that guy?" Natasha demanded, pointing up and behind, where the blind one had been standing. "And what happened to the armies down there?"

Everyone's gaze within the arch flew to her.

And the other Loki, Thor, Tony, and Steve bristled like wolves.

"Woah—what is _she _doing here?" the other Tony pointed at Natasha.

"Kill her, Loki," the man in the leather jacket barked. "Do it now while you've got the chance!"

Jane's Loki twitched.

"_What?" _Bruce Banner yelped.

Tears spilled down the other Jane's cheeks—she pressed a hand to her belly.

"She will stab you in the hearts," the other Thor snarled, his free hand closing to a fist. "Don't let her leave this roof—"

"Keep your eyes upon her," the other Loki hissed, his bearing instantly hard and deadly. "You have no idea what wickedness she is capable of."

"You mean her whole plan with Doom and Schmidt and those guys?" the Tony nearest to Jane cut in. The strangers' looked to him, startled. He nodded.

"Yeah, she was gonna go through with that. Until her guy was thrown into the thick of it." Tony gestured to Clint. "She changed her mind. Fought for us instead." Tony shrugged one shoulder. "Guess it's just proof of that whole 'love conquers all,' thing."

Jane glanced at Natasha, expecting her to spit something venomous back at the ones under the arch…

But she had gone silent.

Her head ducked. And she couldn't look at anyone.

Clint turned and studied her…

Then reached down, and took gentle hold of her fingers.

"I guess we've all made some mistakes," he murmured to her. "Huh, Tasha?"

Her jaw tightened. She lifted her eyes, and gazed at Clint for a moment. Then, inexplicably, turned and looked across at the other Jane. Neither of them spoke.

"She's asking a valid question, though," Banner cut in, dressed in rags but taking a step toward the regal group. "What happened?"

"The tesseract," the old man answered him. "I used it—this single time—to rid you of the Chitauri and Skrull pestilence, so that you may be safe after we depart." He paused—and for some reason, his single blue eye glanced out at the Loki who stood just behind Jane.

And Jane felt him shudder again—deep inside him.

A sharp _snap_ leaped between the arches—a bright electrical shock.

Everyone flinched back from it.

Those on the other side of the arch glanced at each other—and their expressions sharpened with distress. Lady Sif looked urgently out at Jane's Thor.

"We so wish we could linger," she said, squeezing her Thor's hand. "We have so much to tell you…"

"We can't, folks," the other Tony grimly shook his head and looked up at the arch. "It's collapsing on us, here."

"We'd better hurry," the other Steve advised.

Obvious pain crossed all of the other nine's faces.

"Do you…You still have it, don't you?" the other Jane gasped, finding Jane again.

"Yes!" Jane managed, pressing her hand to the Lokistone at her breastbone.

"Keep hold of it!" the other Jane made a fist in front of her. "The rips have gone down several layers through space-time. Weare repairing the ones _we_ can, but we can't reach all of them."

"So…" Jane tried, fighting to understand.

"You may have to use that stone someday," the other Loki told her, watching her—and his calm tone resonated through Jane's very blood. "_You_ may have to send it through another, deeper wound, to help sew the fabric shut again."

"It can do that?" Jane stammered.

The other Loki smiled—and didn't answer.

"Come," the old man urged. "Where is the tesseract?"

Everyone on this side turned to Loki. Jane felt his hands—which had been gripping her arms—shakily release. Jane watched him, heart pounding, as he slipped around her, and silently stepped up toward the archway. She fixed on his face—and he stared, unwavering, at the ancient, one-eyed man.

Loki stopped. Nobody breathed.

Loki swallowed convulsively, twice. His right hand flexed open, then closed tightly.

And Jane saw the same aching anguish reflected back in the eyes of the ancient one, and the woman in white…

And the other Thor stepped forward.

Eyes burning, he crossed through his fellows, and almost stepped across the boundary—_almost _reached out to the Loki standing solitary on the roof.

The other Thor jerked to a halt.

Startled, the Loki on the roof looked up at him—they stared at each other, their pale expressions so flooded with emotions that Jane could not decipher any of them.

Off to Jane's right, the other Loki's expression broke—he looked down and away, filled with pain.

And behind her, Jane could hear Thor struggling against tears.

"You…" the other Thor tried, unsteadily, searching Loki's face. "The tesseracts…When they fuse, there will be nothing to fuel the Midgardian bifrost. No power that has been siphoned from it will remain in this realm." His gaze sharpened further. "But you _will _try to come home. Won't you?"

Jane's Loki's breath caught. His eyes filled with tears.

"Do try, _alskling,"_ the woman in white quietly begged, gripping the old man's arm.

The Loki upon the roof said nothing for a long time. The woman's tears fell.

Loki nodded.

The other Thor answered with a firm nod, blinking rapidly.

And Loki's gaze returned to the old man.

"Do you have it?" the old man asked.

"I told you once," Loki murmured, his expression sincere and quiet. "If you ever needed something hidden—_truly _hidden…"

He waved his hands over each other.

A _flash _of light.

And the tesseract hovered above his fingertips.

A deep thrum pulsed through the air. The tesseracts lit up even brighter—as if they had recognized each other.

An electrical _snap_ crossed the arch again.

The other nine glanced around them—as if they heard something crumbling.

But the old man did not move.

Instead, he looked at the tesseract, then up at Loki.

And smiled.

"Well done, my son."

Loki let out a short, gasping breath. His eyebrows came together.

And he held the cube up higher.

The tesseracts flamed. They pulled toward each other, _straining_ toward each other…

"We love you," the woman in white cried, her tears still running down.

Jane's gaze flashed to the other Loki—who glanced softly at her—and then she met the eyes of her opposite.

Who raised her left hand, and blew Jane a kiss.

The blinding glow of the Cubes merged.

A screech, like grinding glass and metal, ripped across the air.

Blazing flashes of lightning came streaking through the air from all directions—horizon to horizon—and slammed into that powerful brightness, until it built and built…

A slap of thunder.

A subsonic concussion knocked them backward.

A blast of wind.

The glow went out.

Jane caught her balance.

The wind calmed. She blinked several times, trying to clear the dazzle.

The arch was gone. The other half of the roof was abandoned. And far out past the railing stood a dark, empty skyline, and the softly glinting peak of the Chrysler Building.

Loki stood, his hand half outstretched, holding nothing.

And slowly, he let it fall back down to his side, his eyes absent, his cape fluttering in the gentle night breeze.

LLLLL

Jane stood, arms folded. She formed one of the nine members in a wide circle on the roof of Stark Tower. To her right stood Thor. To her left, Loki. Next to Thor was Steve, then Natasha, Clint, Tony, Banner, and Erik.

And in the center of the circle, on the ground, lay the wicked staff. Dark. The blue stone sat black and lifeless.

No one said anything for a very long time. Jane's mind wandered between numbness and a barrage of rapid images too impossible to sort out.

Tony cleared his throat.

"So," he said. Then didn't go on.

"Whatever that was…" Banner began cautiously. "It's going to take me a few months to figure it out."

"It was another plane of existence," Jane murmured, staring blankly at the staff. "Because of a rip that the tesseract made almost seventy years ago."

"Yeah, that sounds simple on paper," Clint said. "But what we just _saw_…"

"Who was that other guy?" Tony asked, frowning. "The one in the jacket, with the attitude?"

"That was Logan," Erik answered. "He is a member of Dr. Xavier's mutant team. I've heard Fury mention him once or twice."

"He seemed familiar," Steve commented. "Why would that be?"

Only Clint answered, and with a simple shrug.

"Well…" Banner ventured, sighing and folding his arms. "At least we don't have to worry about the Chitauri and the Skrulls anymore."

A few people grunted in agreement.

"No," Loki murmured, arms crossed. "Only Thanos."

Their heads came up. They looked at him. Jane turned and watched him, a cold feeling in her stomach.

"Who is Thanos?" Steve asked, his body very still.

Loki did not turn from looking down at the staff.

"A powerful, reasonless, unpredictable enemy. He is the one who caught me after I fell from the bifrost," Loki said. "He beat my body and invaded my mind—sent me here, not truly to rule…" His voice lowered. "But to cause chaos. And death. In whatever manner possible." Loki looked up—at Clint, then Tony, and Steve. "But by removing the tesseract from this realm and killing the entire Chitauri force, we have defied him. And he will not let that rest."

"So what are you saying?" Natasha demanded. "That somebody even _worse _is going to come after us now?"

Loki considered her a moment.

"Possibly," he finally said.

"Well, that's just _great_," Tony threw up his armored hands and turned to the side, toward the ruined skyline.

"Who was that person who died?" Erik asked. "The one in red, with bandages around his face?"

"He was called The Other," Loki answered. "Thanos' emissary."

"He was trying to kill you," Clint said.

Loki's mouth tightened. He said nothing.

"Wow," Natasha murmured coldly to Loki. "You really _did _blow it, didn't you?"

Loki still said nothing.

"Can't go running back to the big boss, because he'll end you," Natasha said. "And you're not going to get to be king _here._" She arched an eyebrow. "You'll be lucky if you can even walk around in public."

"And we are trapped on Midgard," Thor interrupted. "The bifrost that Doom and Schmidt built will now be useless. The tesseract took all of its own power back."

That grave silence fell again, as each one of them faded into thought.

"So…What now?" Banner asked at last, glancing around. "We can't go back to business-as-usual—not with the mastermind of this mess running loose and out to get us."

"What do you suggest, then?" an irritated Tony wanted to know.

Nobody answered. Jane's chest tightened.

"Well…" Clint said slowly—and solemnly regarded Loki. "We might have to learn to live with each other."

"What—keep _him _around?" Natasha nodded at Loki.

"We keep _you _around," Steve pointed out. Natasha didn't look at him.

"But Romanov's right—he can't even be seen in public. They'll mob him," Banner gestured to Loki. "And Fury's gonna want to cut his head off."

Again, nobody spoke.

Until Tony let out a long sigh.

"Yeah, well…" he halfway winced, then spoke resignedly. "I've got a house by Lake Erie. It's been locked up for years—big grounds, estate, stuff like that. Plus a fully-equipped basement. I can upload Jarvis in about five minutes."

"Wait—We're…You want _all _of us to come to your house?" Steve frowned at him.

"Yeah, for now," Tony held up a hand. "Just until we get this whole freaking mess figured out. Might be a good idea to lay low for a while, anyway—get everybody out of the limelight. I actually think New York might be better off if we just _left_. We rain destruction down on ourselves wherever we go."

"Certainly looks like it," Erik agreed.

"And anyway, I know we'd all like to keep Green Eyes here in our sight, whatever we do," Tony added, glancing at Loki.

"_That's _true, at least," Banner nodded.

"Okay, then," Tony sighed again. "I'll give Pepper a call, before we all collapse. See if we can't get an airlift out of here. _If _my landing pad isn't too screwed up. Thanks, _Banner_."

"Sorry," Banner muttered, halfway smiling. Tony strode off the roof, his gears groaning, opened the door and headed down, leaving the others to stand in numbed, weary silence.

LLLLL

The others had gone below. Drifted away, one by one, to wait in the lower levels for the airlift Stark had called. Even Jane, without looking at anyone, had slowly departed. Loki remained on the roof. With Thor. Neither of them said anything.

Thor sat on a metal box that housed some machine. He gazed up into the fathomless sky—at the few stars that were not obstructed by clouds. The lights of the city had dimmed so much that several of them were visible.

Loki pulled off his helmet, turned it slowly in his hands, watching the dim light glint off it. Then, he quietly vanished it.

He gazed out over the night, listening to the silence. He dusted his armor off—it rustled like feathers and disappeared, leaving plain black clothes beneath. His side hurt. So did the cut on his left hand. He glanced over.

"Thor," he called, keeping his voice down. "What is it?"

For a long while, Thor did not answer. Then, he took a low breath.

"Sif," he whispered—and said nothing more.

Loki watched him.

Then, he stepped alongside Thor, turned away from where he was facing…

And placed a soft hand on Thor's shoulder.

Thor lowered his head, and closed his eyes.

Loki stayed as he was for many minutes. Then, he lifted his hand, and laid it against the back of Thor's head.

"I am going to find Jane," he muttered. Thor nodded, eyes still shut. Loki stepped away from him, and made his way to the door.

LLLLL

Loki's boots crunched on the pieces of broken flooring. He paused. But she didn't stir.

Loki stood in Tony Stark's ruined room—the one where Loki had confronted him not so long ago, and the reckless man had offered him a drink.

The room where he and Jane had first seen each other, face to face.

Now, glass lay strewn across the floor, which was impacted in a man-sized crater and cracked all the way to the four corners of the room. Most of the towering windows had been shattered, so the very early morning breeze drifted freely in. And Jane sat on one of the tall stools just beyond the hole in the floor, her back to him, looking out over the city.

Loki started toward her again.

He maneuvered around the hole, stepping carefully, and drew up close to her left shoulder. The stool was high enough, that he only had to look down at her a little. The sky in the east had begun to lighten—he could see her just enough.

She was crying.

The ends of her long, loose hair fluttered gently. Her dark gaze unfocused, her delicate eyebrows drew together, and large tears trickled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. Loki's heart clenched. He waited.

Jane swallowed, and took a breath.

"I feel wrong."

He frowned. Listened.

"Something happened to me," she whispered. "When the snake venom hit me. I can feel it—there's a difference in my body. I'm not…" She hesitated, frowning, choosing her words carefully. "A person can feel themselves dying. Very, very slowly. But I never…I didn't realize that until I _couldn't_ feel it anymore."

Loki's breathing sped up—right along with his pulse.

"The snake wasn't taking my life," Jane murmured. "It was doing the opposite."

"I'm…I'm sorry," Loki breathed, his muscles turning to water. "The Other mentioned something about the venom giving immortality…" His voice quieted even more. "I was very…I was afraid of what it would do to you."

"Is that why you broke loose?" Jane asked listlessly.

Loki studied every surface of her face.

"I don't know," he confessed. "Perhaps…I was always able to break loose. I just needed the proper motivation."

The words left his mouth—and silence followed them. He waited for her to say something. To answer him.

But her brow twisted. More tears fell.

"I don't…" she suddenly choked. "I don't _want_ to live forever. I know that people are supposed to want to live as long as they can, but…" She gulped, and swiped at her face with a trembling hand. "But to watch everybody around me get old, and _die _and…" She couldn't go on. And Loki could not bear it.

"What if…" he started unsteadily.

Her shuddering calmed—she tilted her head toward him.

Loki closed his eyes.

"What if I stayed with you?"

Jane turned her head.

Loki opened his eyes. She was gazing up at him, her eyes bright—intense, focused.

"You…" She faltered. "You would…"

"Yes," he said, never looking away from her. "I'm your husband."

He held out his hand to her, knowledge and realization pressing hard against the inside of his chest. He raised his eyebrows. "Aren't I?"

She stared back at him for a long moment.

Then, she reached out and took his hand in both of hers. She traced the long cut on the back of his hand, watching the movement of her fingers. Thrills raced across Loki's skin.

"Do you want to be?" she asked—cautious. Afraid.

"I do," he breathed, leaning in toward her. "Yes, I do."

She lifted her face, her eyes filling with light, her lips parting—

He fiercely met her lips with his, unable to stop himself, pressing deep—then unable to keep from fervently kissing the tears from her lips and cheeks and eyes…

And then his heart swelled to breaking as she answered him.

She turned her head as he was kissing her cheek and found his mouth with hers, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

The sun broke over the horizon. Loki instantly felt it warm the side of his face—felt its golden light caress him as he pulled Jane tighter against his heart.

His lips lingered on hers. He drew a deep breath of her—she pulled in a breath of him…

Their mouths parted. He held her up off the ground. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. They looked at each other, unwavering. Jane's eyes sparkled now, in the fresh light of the dawn, her skin luminous and soft. Loki gently rubbed his thumb back and forth against her back, unable to speak.

She smiled at him.

His heart skipped a beat.

She leaned in and laid a soft kiss just below his eye, and rested her forehead against his.

Loki's eyes drifted shut. And something settled down through the depths of his chest—something he had not felt for many, many years.

Peace.

He gave a long sigh.

Jane laced her fingers through his hair.

And for just a moment, in the very far distance, he thought he heard the sound of a man and a woman quietly laughing.

"_Out of the nothingness of sleep,  
The slow dreams of Eternity,  
There was a thunder on the deep:  
I came, because you called to me._

_I broke the Night's primeval bars,_  
_I dared the old abysmal curse,_  
_And flashed through ranks of frightened stars_  
_Suddenly on the universe!_

_The eternal silences were broken;_  
_Hell became Heaven as I passed. -_  
_What shall I give you as a token,_  
_A sign that we have met, at last?_

_I'll break and forge the stars anew,_  
_Shatter the heavens with a song;_  
_Immortal in my love for you,_  
_Because I love you, very strong._

_Your mouth shall mock the old and wise,_  
_Your laugh shall fill the world with flame,_  
_I'll write upon the shrinking skies_  
_The scarlet splendour of your name,_

_Till Heaven cracks, and Hell thereunder_  
_Dies in her ultimate mad fire,_  
_And darkness falls, with scornful thunder,_  
_On dreams of men and men's desire._

_Then only in the empty spaces,_  
_Death, walking very silently,_  
_Shall fear the glory of our faces_  
_Through all the dark infinity._

_So, clothed about with perfect love,_  
_The eternal end shall find us one,_  
_Alone above the Night, above_  
_The dust of the dead gods, alone."_

_-"The Call," Rupert Brooke_

FIN

_Review!_


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